


Shared Flame

by LadyMiya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 49
Words: 300,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMiya/pseuds/LadyMiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when two normally clever individuals both had a really lousy day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make money out of this.
> 
> Warning! SMUT! TORTURE! DEATH! There will be spoilers from all seven books. In this story Hermione and Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort are the main sexual pair. Hermione is 18 when the story begins (I use JK's own statements that Hermione is born in 1979), and there will be lots and lots and lots of smut, some scenes more graphic than others. There will also be quite a bit of "bad" words. If you don't like that, DO NOT READ THIS STORY! There will also be some torture scenes and killing scenes.
> 
> English is not my first language. I do try to edit the best I can, and Ankoku Dezaia and Serpent in Red have beta-ed (thank you so much!), but errors are doomed to occur. If you spot any, you are welcome to point them out, and I'll change it as quickly as possible! Constructive critism is always welcomed.
> 
> I also want to thank Nerys and Serpent in Red for brainstorming with me about the title of this story. And another thank to Nerys and Ankoku Dezaia for being my muses and helping me out when I get stuck.
> 
> And so, it begins.

 

 

 

 

**Prologue**

 

Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort, was having a really lousy day. The final battle, which he had been supposed to win by killing Harry Potter, had not gone as planned. First he thought he had killed Harry Potter, and the boy had disappeared. Afterwards, Longbottom’s brat had killed his precious snake and final Horcrux. Then Harry Potter showed up AGAIN! When that happened, Voldemort could actually feel all his Death Eaters abandon him. Many just dropped their wands and put their hands up when he and Harry started to fight.

 

In a last desperate attempt, Voldemort tried to kill the boy, only to have the spell bouncing back again. It was by sheer luck and awesome reflexes he managed to duck. When that happened and he was lying on the floor, he knew the battle was over and his survival instinct kicked in. Before anyone managed to come near, he turned into his Animagus form, a black mamba. In that form, he could move at twelve mph, and his seven feet long body made most people jump away before they tried to attack him. Once he was outside the school grounds, he changed back to a human and Apparated to the first place he could think of: Spinner’s End.

 

It was peculiar that he would choose Snape’s home. However, he had a long time ago learned to trust his subconscious. It worked out things much quicker than he and was usually right. Now, when he had time to think about it, he realised the brilliance of coming here. The owner was dead, killed by Voldemort himself, and the house contained a lot of magical instruments he could need.

 

Voldemort marched down to the basement where he knew Snape kept most of the more interesting things in his collection. He needed a new plan, and he needed it fast. This was almost as bad as in 1981 when he had lost everything as well. The difference now was that he at least had his body with him. However, he didn’t have any more Horcruxes, which meant that if anyone found him and killed him, he would actually die.

 

The thought made him freeze. Merlin, he could die!

 

Instead of falling into the anguish he felt rising in his body, he started to pull down books from the bookshelves which were covering the whole back wall of the basement. He needed to find a way to become immortal again. No, first he needed to make sure no one found him as he worked on a way to make himself immortal again. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the most blend-in-able appearance. When he was reborn into this body, he had wanted it to be clear to everyone who dared lay eyes on him that he was so much more than a mere human. Now, everywhere he went he would be recognised. Sure, there were spells and potions to hide him for a moment, but that was risky. He didn’t want to rely on spells and potions all the time. His wand could be taken (even if that chance was very, very small) and potions could be messed with. No, the first thing he needed to do was to change his appearance so no one would recognise him.

 

Voldemort finally found the book he needed. He had only heard about it before, never thinking he would actually need it. It was a dark potion, of course, and mostly used by old hags who wanted to become young and beautiful again. He would, of course, have to make some adjustment since there were still people around who remembered him from when he was young. However, that would probably be the least of his problems. The ingredients in the potion were very rare. Blood of a Phoenix was needed as well as Golden Apples. Each of the ingredients cost thrice their weight in diamonds, and you could only find them if you had the right connections.

 

He had the connections, but not the diamonds. And these connections weren’t the ones you threatened to kill if they didn’t obey. They were much too powerful for that and not human. Actually, they weren’t even really alive, but neither were they dead. For over a thousand years, they had been stuck somewhere in between.

 

Cursing, he smacked his hands at the table. He had to do it. He would just have to offer them something else instead of diamonds. Sometimes, these creatures just wanted to be entertained. However, he feared for in what way.

 

Before he had time to lose his courage, he Apparated to where _they_ dwelled.

 

The forest was bright and green, making great contrast to the dark basement he had just left. He was in Ireland and in the most magical place of the world, the land of the fairies. However, these weren’t the kind of small, winged, vain creatures wizard children learned about in Care of Magical Creatures. They were creatures of the elements and could take any form they wished. In Muggle folklore they were blamed for stealing human children and replacing them with their own. However, this was not true. Merlin’s curse had made sure of that.

 

Few wizards knew the true story of Merlin, of why he was so famous and praised. They just looked up to him because that was what everyone else had always done. Voldemort liked to believe himself as the only one who knew the truth. However, that was more because he stumbled upon the truth. Some fifty years ago, he had been to Ireland and, quite on accident, found a fairy. Sometimes, the fairies moved to the normal realm to play with humans or other animals. One fairy, dressing up as a human, had become intrigued by him. He had always been a charmer and he hadn’t had to pry long before she – or it (he wasn’t sure if they really had a sex, but it had appeared to him as a human, and in the folklores, she had always been a woman) – told him about the fairies.

 

In the time of Merlin, the fairies had great magic. The story went that Merlin had been jealous of their magic, and when they wouldn’t tell him the secrets of the elements, he had cursed them to never be alive, or dead. They still had powers, but the only way they could evoke them in the human realm was through a wizard or a witch. Merlin had counted on that. However, because of their free will, they didn’t always help wizards. Merlin had not counted on that and so he had never been able to learn the fairies’ secrets.

 

Over the years, as the fairies were forgotten, some of them had simply withered away, becoming one with the elements. A few fairies had retreated to Ireland, now and again finding interest in a witch or wizard and granting them use of their powers.

 

“Tom Riddle.” His name was a breeze against his skin. As he watched, the breeze took form to the woman he had once known. Her hair was long and black, floating around her as if she were in water. Her skin was even paler than his, but her eyes were as green as the trees around them. She was not fully corporal, looking more like something between a ghost and a human.

 

“Morgana,” he replied with a smile.

 

She sighed as her eyes wandered over his body, looking sad. “What has become of you, Tom Riddle?”

 

“Minor setback, Morgana. I’m here because I need a favour.”

 

She tilted her head, suddenly becoming curious as he knew she would. Fairies were gentle beings, curious and, most of the time, just plain annoying. They loved to play games and sometimes tricked a poor human. However, now and again, one of them would take great interest in a human’s life, becoming some sort of a guardian for him or her.

 

“A favour, he says,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling.

 

The shivers down his spine increased when he heard other whispers come from all around him. The others were here! Why?

 

“We don’t do favours, Tom Riddle.” Another voice came from behind him. It was as hot as the sun, but when he turned around there was no one to be seen.

 

“I know. But I need Phoenix Blood and a Golden Apple and I don’t have diamonds. I thought that we could exchange favours.”

 

He didn’t know what Morgana was thinking. She was staring at him, but he could hear the whisper of voices and knew they were talking to each other in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

 

“What can you offer that is as good as diamonds?” another voice whispered in his ear.

 

Voldemort thought quickly. Diamonds were the only way for them to do magic without a wizard. Although it wasn’t active magic like a curse, it was a way for them to store their magic. This method made sure that they had somewhere to rest, so they wouldn’t wither away if they didn’t want to.

 

“If you give me what I want, I can steal all the crown jewels of Europe for you,” he offered. He was sure it wouldn’t be that hard to steal from Muggles.

 

“Naughty boy. We don’t want stolen goods, Tom Riddle,” Morgana tittered, floating closer to him.

 

More whispers were heard in the glade. Morgana’s expression lightened up and became filled with mischief.

 

Voldemort mentally cursed. It was unnerving how they could feel how desperate he was. He had known it would come to this.

  
“Name your price,” he said sternly.

 

“Oh, it’s quite simple, Tom Riddle. We want you to restore your soul.”

 

Voldemort blinked. Whatever he had expected it wasn’t this. “That’s impossible. The parts are gone.”  
  


“Not at all. You just need some help from your Soul Mate.”

 

He wanted to laugh at Morgana, but her face had become serious. Fairies knew a lot of things that wizards had forgotten, and if she said he had a Soul Mate, he probably did. No matter how ridiculous the thought was. However, if it was true and he could restore his soul, he could make Horcruxes again and…

 

“You’ll keep this soul in one piece,” Morgana ordered, holding up a warning finger at him, probably feeling his thoughts. No matter how good his Occlumency was, there was no fooling them. It was a good thing they couldn’t really do anything in the world.

 

“Very well. Why do you want this?” he asked.

 

He did not like that she giggled. “The true value of the price will become clear in due time. If you agree, we’ll show you who your Soul Mate is and how to restore your soul.”

 

He thought quickly. “But if I have to actually meet my Soul Mate, I have to have the Phoenix Blood and a Golden Apple beforehand. Otherwise, I’m sure my Soul Mate will run in the other direction when he or she sees me.”  
  


The whispers seemed more excited now, and he wondered what it was he had promised exactly.

 

“Clever as always, Tom Riddle. But to save time, we’ll help you make the potion right now. There is only a small opening for when you can be with your Soul Mate and that is tonight.”

 

Ah, so at least he wouldn’t have to stay with whoever it was. That was something at least. Perhaps that person was dying? The thought comforted him. He didn’t like the thought of having a Soul Mate. Whatever it meant to have a Soul Mate, he didn’t think it would be anything good. Or rather, it _had_ to be disgustingly good and chipper. Something Dumbledore would approve of. Voldemort hated the thought of that. Nevertheless, he was, after all, desperate.

 

“Very well, I accept your offer.”

 

Morgana smiled, and he could feel laughter in the air. Now he really started to wonder what he had agreed to, but before he had a chance to ask, she had dissolved into mist again. Another wind came against his back and he was forced forward into the forest. The trees bent to make way for him in a way he rather enjoyed. Since he had accepted they could help him, he could feel a little of his magic being pulled from his body and mixing with the fairies as he walked. Probably so they would be corporeal long enough to make the potion. After half an hour, he was in another glade where a cup filled with potion was standing on a stone.

 

“Drink it.” Morgana’s voice was right next to his ear.

 

“But I needed to make some adjustments,” he stated. “Otherwise people will still recognise me.”  
  


“We have already taken care of that. Drink. It will give you a new, true appearance.”

 

Since he had accepted, he couldn’t back down now. All he had was the knowledge that whatever was in that cup wouldn’t kill him. Fairies didn’t kill. They played. He brought it to his mouth and drank.

 

When nothing seemed to be happening, he looked around for Morgana.

 

“What…” He stopped. His voice was different, deeper. He looked down at his hands. They were still pale, but smaller and more human. He moved them up to his face and felt a nose and lips. Now he also realised he was getting warmer in his skin. His stomach began to rumble as well.

 

“I thought it would be more painful,” he said slowly out into the air.

 

“Are you sorry it was not?” Morgana appeared from the air again, creating a mirror between her hands.

 

He shook his head and looked into the mirror, puzzled. Since his body had begun to change in his twenties, he had never seen himself look so old and still normal before. The only thing remaining from his old appearance was the glowing red eyes. That was the only thing connected to the missing soul. The other changes of his body had been from other Dark Arts rituals and spells. However, he didn’t exactly look like he thought he would have looked around thirty. The hair was dark brown instead of black, his face a little rounder, even if the cheekbones were still high. His nose was not as pointed as before, and his lips had never been quite so full.

 

“The eyes will have their new normal colour once you have been with your Soul Mate,” Morgana confirmed his belief. “Until then, this will disguise them for you.”

 

The mirror disappeared, and a diamond on a chain appeared instead. He took it and hung it around his neck, feeling the magic of it and was uncertain what it would do. It didn’t feel like he knew a fairy’s normal resting place felt. Instead, he could feel his own magic in it. The fairies must have used his magic for creating this as well.

 

“It will also help you regain your soul when you are with your Soul Mate,” she explained. “Once you have your soul back, you’ll place the diamond on your Soul Mate’s stomach.”

 

He arched an eyebrow (and then had to move his hand up there to feel his new eyebrow). Well, it didn’t surprise him that he needed more than just a certain Soul Mate to regain his soul, but why did he have to put the diamond on the person’s stomach?

 

“It’s part of your price,” she replied mystically when he asked out loud.

 

He sighed. Right. “Then what am I expected to do with my Soul Mate?”

 

“You will know when you see her,” Morgana answered with a chuckle.

 

xxx

 

Hermione Granger had a really lousy day. Or well, it wasn’t all that lousy she guessed. She had survived the final battle, and the Death Eaters were destroyed. Sure, Lord Voldemort had disappeared, but everyone was sure he would be captured now when all his followers had left him. At least the Ministry and Hogwarts had been reclaimed.

 

That wasn’t why she was having a lousy day. No, her lousy day came from a much more personal issue.

 

Just before the final battle, she had kissed her best friend, Ron Weasley, and he had kissed her back. She had been sure that if they came out of the battle alive, they would be together. However, then the party had begun. She wasn’t sure who had started it, since so many were dead and so many had friends and family to grieve, but she knew where it had started: at the Ministry. With her other best friend, Harry Potter, she and Ron had travelled to the Ministry with everyone else alive in the Order of the Phoenix to see if there were any Death Eaters left there. They had beaten down a few, and the rest had surrendered when they heard their master had fled. A lot of the workers at the Ministry had started to cheer, and soon the party had started.

 

Hermione, wanting to forget all the horrors she had seen, let herself be swept away by the happiness and relief of others after a couple of drinks. A while later, she had gone to find Ron to see if they could find some comfort in each other. However, when she found him, he was already being comforted by someone else. His ex-girlfriend, Lavender Brown.

 

With all the other horrible things that had happened, Hermione just hadn’t been able to stand it. She Apparated home to her parents’ house only to remember that they were in Australia under other aliases, not knowing who she was or anything like that. That had been the final straw, and she went to the nearest pub, deciding that she could try the whole drinking-away-your-sorrows thing she had heard so much about.

 

She was doing a good job doing just that at the pub when someone sat down next to her. During the night, she had had three men coming over to ask if she wanted company, but she had sent them away with a cutting remark. She was about to do that with this man, too, when he placed his hand on her shoulder.

 

An electric bolt went through her whole body, and she jumped up from her seat and stumbled. The man captured her and helped her stand. She watched him with wide eyes, and he seemed just as surprise as she was. His dark blue eyes were mesmerising, and whatever insult she had been about to say disappeared.

 

“Eh, hello,” he said sheepishly.

 

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was almost ten inches taller than she was, and the dark hair framed his graceful face in the most flattering way.

 

“Hi,” she replied, wanting to say something more but not finding the words. She was all too aware that he still held his hands on her elbows to keep her up.

 

“I…” For some strange reason, he seemed to have the same problem. “Eh… drink?”

 

“Oh, eh, well… yes, plea-anks,” she said, then blushed, realising she had changed word right in the middle of a word. What was wrong with her?

 

The man helped her sit down on the chair again and then called the server over before he sat down right next to her. When he was looking in the other direction, her eyes wandered over his body. His clothes were completely black and smelled quite… peculiar. Not bad but not good either. They didn’t look like clothes usually did, but she just couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong. Perhaps it was all the alcohol in her body?

 

“Ehm.” He turned towards her again. “I’m Marcus by the way.”

 

“Hermione,” she said, finally managing to get something right.

 

Their drinks came.

 

“I hope I’m not being too forward now, but you seem rather sad,” he noted.

 

She made a grimace. “I rather not think about it.”  
  


“Oh, okay. Well, that’s fine. I’m sure we can find something else to do so you won’t have to think about whatever it is,” he quickly assured.

 

When Hermione thought back to the night, there was a huge black hole in her memory. She remembered talking to him for a very long time, but not really what they were talking about. Then she remembered the pub closing and him helping her home since she was quite drunk. When they reached her door, she remembered kissing him and asking him to come inside which he had. Then everything was rather fuzzy. When she woke up in the morning, feeling like crap, he was gone, and a part of her thought it had all just been a hallucination.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to Nerys for allowing me to use Malcolm as the name of Hermione's father and to ayerf on Ashwinder for the usage of the name Helen (which she got the idea of from Greek mythology) for Hermione's mother. Yes, that's right; I was too lazy to make up names for myself.
> 
> Also want to thank Serpent in Red for betaing this chapter.

**Part One**

 

**Chapter 1**

 

The summer after the final battle, Hermione travelled down to Australia to find her parents. While there, she did and she also caught a nasty stomach bug which messed with her stomach for a whole month. Her parents were terribly angry with her for making them forget about her, but also very relieved that she was alive and that wizarding Britain was starting to heal again. Thankfully, since Voldemort was still at large, her parents didn’t want to leave their new life in Australia. Instead, they wanted her to move down and finish her last school year there with them. Apparently, in Australia, you didn’t have to live in the school to attend to it. But Hermione missed Britain. Not the country per se, but she missed how it had been before Voldemort took over and she had no reason to doubt things would slowly turn back to that way of life again. True, Harry and Ron wouldn’t finish their seventh year, but Hogwarts would still be open. Most of the teachers would still be the same, and she just wanted to be around friendly, familiar people again. Guilt

 

Or so she thought.

 

When she began school on the first of September, everyone was acting strange around her. It was because of her actions in the war. A lot of people had fought in the final battle, but she had been with Harry Potter for the whole year! It raised a lot of awe in the people around her, and she found that she just couldn’t speak to them in a casual way anymore. However, that wasn’t her biggest problem.

 

Now that school had started again, with all its routines, she noticed that her period was missing. It wasn’t so strange; she had had it just two weeks before the final battle, and before that, it had been absent for almost three months. Back then, she had blamed it on the stress, but now she didn’t feel all that stressed anymore and she couldn’t remember having it at all during the summer.

 

In the end of September, she went to Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. The news she received was very disturbing.

 

“How could I possibly be pregnant?” Hermione asked out loud.

 

Pomfrey was watching her with a look of sympathy. “Well, from the information I have here, you are quite far along as well. I’d say you conceived at the beginning of May.”  
  


Hermione just gaped at her. She hadn’t even had… oh, wait, maybe she had. The drunken night just after the final battle came back to mind.

 

“Well, get rid of it then,” she said, starting to panic. “I can’t be pregnant! I’m just nineteen!”

 

Pomfrey suddenly got a very sad face. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Miss Granger. The foetus is healthy, and the law is very clear on this. No abortion after the first trimester.”

 

Hermione looked at her, bewildered. “No, that can’t be! I’m sure I’ve read that they are legal until the twenty-fourth week!”

 

“That’s in the Muggle world, Miss Granger. I’m afraid the wizarding world is stricter on that, since the foetus starts to feed off your magic as well as your body in the second trimester. If the foetus is healthy, an abortion in the second trimester is just too dangerous for your magic. The foetus will use it to stay alive if threatened.”

 

Hermione couldn’t do anything but gape. It was ridiculous. Surely there had to be something wrong with Pomfrey’s equipment?

 

“There is not,” Pomfrey replied with a frown when Hermione asked her. “You can do the spell yourself if you want. Here, I’ll show you how.”

 

The bright yellow light from the diagnostic charm spoke the truth. Hermione was pregnant. Pomfrey comforted Hermione as she began to cry. All she had planned for the future had been destroyed. How could she possibly take care of a child alone?

 

By the time night came, Hermione just wanted to go to her parents. There were just too many things she couldn’t think about. The questions about who the father was didn’t alarm her as much as the question involving how she could possibly take care of it. She wanted to finish her education, but she couldn’t do that at Hogwarts and have a child. The first thing she decided to do was to leave Hogwarts and start in Australia instead. Her father, Malcolm Granger, worked part time and he promised to help her with whatever she needed. Her mother, Helen Granger, would of course help as well, but her prime concern was making sure they had a secure income. They managed to set up a routine, and when Hermione went into labour on a warm morning in the end of January, she felt more at ease that she would be able to manage it.

 

The baby girl was declared healthy and named Althea. A couple of months later, Hermione finished school. She didn’t get as high marks as she had wanted, and it annoyed her more than she cared to admit. With Althea in her life, she wanted to recognise that school wasn’t the most important thing anymore. But it was hard! Her results in school had always been such a huge part of how she was. She didn’t find herself as comfortable in the mother role as her parents did. To her great guilt, they were the ones taking the most care of Althea. When she started to plan her future, her parents supported her, even if it meant she would be away from her daughter a lot.

 

In the fall of 1999, she started a bachelor program at Australian Institute of Magical Learning, majoring in Transfiguration. She loved it, even if she never managed to get into the social life. Her guilt over her poor mother skills made her try to be at home when she did have some spare time, and she never really managed to get any close friends. Harry and Ginny had come down during the summer to meet her and her daughter, but Ron… well, according to Harry, he was sour that she had somehow had sex with someone other than him. Hermione had been angry, and to her great regret, taken it out on Harry and Ginny. It didn’t help when they just wouldn’t understand that she had no idea who the father was. Or maybe it was Hermione’s own annoyance over the fact. All she knew was that his name was Marcus. However, when she had tried to look him up in her parents’ old phone catalogue for people living in their city, the only Marcus had been too old to be her Marcus. She also had a vague memory of him speaking in a different dialect, and she concluded that he probably wasn’t from the area and let it be. Even if she had found him, she wasn’t sure she would have contacted him. It was just so embarrassing. She hardly remembered having sex with the man and she had no idea how he would react if he found out he had a daughter! In any case, her relationship with her friends in Britain became a bit frosty after that. Even if she still wrote to them now and again, they didn’t arrange any more visits.  
  


Alas, the three years she spent at AIML were some of her loneliest years, even if it was very exciting studying Transfiguration on a higher level. When Althea turned three, Hermione started her final semester there, and that was when things started to change drastically.

 

“Hermione?”

 

It was the beginning of March, and Hermione had just come back from a very long day in school and was exhausted. When her father called, she walked to the living room where he was sitting with a sleeping Althea in his arms. Her mother was sitting next to him on the couch, which was rather strange because she was usually at the office until six and it was only five. Their faces were very serious and Hermione felt like she had done something bad, but had no idea what.

 

“Hi, Mum, Dad,” she greeted them carefully. “What is it?”

 

“Did you remember that Althea had a doctor’s appointment today?” Helen asked sternly.

 

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, but it was just a check up, right? Dad said he could take care of it.”  
  


“Yes, and I don’t mind.” Malcolm’s voice was much softer than Helen’s. “But the doctor had some… concerns. Do you realise that Althea have yet to say her first word?”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to object. Althea was quite vocal about everything. She laughed and cried and screamed and hummed. Although, she didn’t speak. No, when Hermione tried to remember, she couldn’t recall a single time she had heard her daughter call her “Mum” or any other word.

 

“Oh. Well… no, I hadn’t really thought about it. Is that bad?”

 

Her mother gave her a pitiful look. “Well, not bad per se, but it’s unusual. But that is not the most unsettling thing: Althea used magic.”  
  


Hermione’s eyes widened. It was normal that little witches and wizards did magic before they got their first wand, but Hermione didn’t think it was normal for them to do it as early as three.

 

“You know we will always be here to help you, Hermione,” Malcolm said and rose from the couch with Althea still in his arms. “But… well, today Althea could have hurt someone. The doctor wanted to look in her throat, and it must have hurt because Althea began to scream and… the lamp above us exploded. If the doctor hadn’t jumped away, she would have got it on her head.”

 

Hermione gasped. “Oh… but how… what did she think?”

 

“She called the janitor, and he thought it was an electrical glitch. But we saw these things when you were little. Granted, not as little as this, but still… and we were afraid then as well. However, we couldn’t do anything to protect you or others from your magic. You can and should protect Althea from harming herself or others.” He gave her the sleeping girl, and Hermione felt like crying.

 

She knew she should care more about her daughter and take better care of her, but it was just so difficult. Half the time, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and that scared her!

 

Helen came up next to her. “You know your father and I just want to support and help you… but we are starting to think we are doing both you and Althea a disservice. She needs her mother, and you need to find a connection with her.”  
  


Hermione pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t cry. “I know… I just… I don’t feel like a mother.”

 

Her mother clapped her shoulder. “Then it’s about time you start trying.”  
  


Later that night, when Hermione was lying awake in her bed with Althea sleeping in a small bed next to her, she thought long and hard about what her parents had said. To an outsider, they may appear rather strict, especially her mother, but Hermione knew they only wanted what was best for her. Her daughter wouldn’t just disappear, so her parents couldn’t protect her from the responsibility of being a mother. Yes, she was young, but younger women than her had managed to raise children before.

 

After she got her bachelor degree three months from now, she could try to find a half-time job with some Transfiguration specialist and move to her own place. Althea was big enough for kindergarten, or maybe, if her salary was good enough, she could afford a nanny. But she should move to her own place. It wasn’t right being a parasite on her parents like this. They needed to save for their retirement. Sure, Hermione had hoped to get an even higher education, perhaps getting a doctoral degree in Transfiguration. But she had to think realistically. There was no way she could handle raising a daughter, study full time and have a job to afford a place to live and food for both of them. No, she would just have to put her dreams on a shelf. At least for now. Maybe when Althea was older, she could go back to the university. Until then, she would have to raise her daughter and hopefully find out why the girl didn’t talk.

 

The next morning, her parents accepted her plan to finish her bachelor degree first and then try to find a job and her own place. Until then, they would keep helping her out. Thus, Hermione continued to work hard on her academics, writing tirelessly on her bachelor thesis on the human/animal Transfiguration. She had a theory that some of the attributes of the animal stayed in the human after the transfiguration and wanted to explore how long and to what degree it affected the human. Yes, she had got the idea from witnessing Draco Malfoy twitching days after he had been turned into a ferret. However, her professors were very enthusiastic about her studies, and she had even been invited to present her thesis at a congress in the end of May. So at least, she would leave the academic world with a grand exit.

 

Or, so she had thought. It was the middle of April when her favourite professor called her into his office. Hermione, expecting it to be another talk about the progress of her thesis (which she was almost finished with), was surprise when an ancient woman was in the office as well.

 

“Hermione!” Professor Kelly greeted her, with the same enthusiasm as he always had. “I’m so happy you could come on such short notice.”

 

“Well, I don’t have any classes anymore, just my thesis to work with,” Hermione reminded him with a smile. “I’m quite flexible.”  
  


Professor Kelly chuckled. “Indeed. Well, let me introduce you to Professor Guinevere Cox-Trotter, the head of the Magical Department of the University of Oxford. Guinevere, this is Hermione Granger, the student I was telling you about.”  
  


Quite baffled, Hermione shook hands with the smiling old lady. She had a firm grip, and Hermione could feel the confident air around her. This was a woman who was used to get her will in things and could make people listen to her.

 

“Well, I’ve of course heard about you before, Miss Granger,” Cox-Trotter admitted in a friendly tone. “Your contributions in the war against Lord Voldemort are well known, and I have the pleasure of being on good footing with another of your old professors, Minerva McGonagall. She has told me quite a lot about you.”  
  


Hermione was pleasantly surprised at the mention of Professor McGonagall. “Oh? How is Professor McGonagall these days? Still Headmistress of Hogwarts?”

 

“Indeed she is, although I think she plans to retire in the next couple of years. The war took its tool on her.” Her eyes became sad for a moment.

 

Professor Kelly cleared his throat. “Now that we all know each other; Hermione, Guinevere is very interested about your thesis. Would you mind giving her a small insight into your ideas?”

 

“Oh, not at all,” Hermione replied, always happy to speak about academics. Professor Cox-Trotter listened attentively to her and asked very thoughtful questions about something in her theory or her empiric work. Hermione lost track of time, and soon it began to darken outside.

 

“Dear me, we have been here for quite some time, haven’t we?” Cox-Trotter remarked when Kelly turned on the lights. “It wasn’t my intention at all. I only wanted to see if you were really as good as everyone claimed.”  
  


Professor Kelly chuckled as Hermione blushed.

 

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Hermione, but I’ve bragged quite a bit about you on our meetings,” Kelly admitted. “I just feel like you could do so much for this field. However, the best Transfiguration teachers are at Oxford and…” He looked at Cox-Trotter.

 

Hermione looked at the lady as well who smiled. “On behalf of the University of Oxford, I want to say that we would be honoured if you would choose to continue your academic career with us.”

 

Happiness swelled in her stomach. This was more than she could ever hope for! The Head of the most respectable university in the world wanted her to come to them! Then, reality hit her and her smile faded.

 

“I’m very honoured,” she replied carefully. “But I’m afraid I can’t afford that. I have a daughter, you see, and I have to support her myself from now on. I do want to continue, but I may have to wait another ten years or so.”

 

Cox-Trotter’s smile faded as well, but then she seemed thoughtful. “If money is the issue, we do have quite generous scholarships for postgraduates. We also have flats. They are for Professors though, but since wizards knows how to Apparate, few uses them. We have had empty flats right next to the school for years. I’m sure we could… bump the rules a little for your sake.”

 

Hermione felt bad. “I’m not sure I want special treatment…”  
  


Kelly chuckled, like he so often did. “Didn’t I tell you she was modest?”

 

Cox-Trotter smiled. “I’m not just giving these things to you, Miss Granger. I see them as an investment. You are already one of the brightest students I’ve ever heard about. I want you to finish your education at Oxford and take your doctoral degree with us. The progress you’ll make in the field will increase Oxford’s good reputation. You don’t seem to realise how innovative you are.”  
  


The flattery was almost too much for Hermione. “Thank you, but you see… my daughter…”

 

The lady waved it away. “So, you’ll study half-time for the first couple of years instead of full-time. That’s not unusual. You will soon see that you are not the only single parent at Oxford’s advanced studies either. And there will be others on the course much older than you.”

 

It was very tempting. Hermione did want to continue school, and now she would get paid for doing that! However, that would mean moving back to England and away from her parents. Although, perhaps that was what she needed? To get so far away from them that she couldn’t use them as crutches anymore? And how would study half-time be any different from working half-time? Sure, it would take longer for her to finish her degree, but it would still be faster than she had anticipated.

 

With her mind made up, she smiled. “Well, if I can have this promise as a written contract, I’ll do it.”

 

Her parents were more thrilled for her than she had expected them to be. They were glad that she would take full responsibility for her daughter and still be able to go through with her dreams.

 

When her thesis was finished and stamped with the highest grade and the congress was over with, Hermione began to pack. She also began to look up Healers in Britain. Althea still hadn’t said a word, but she had begun using magic in a way Hermione was sure was not normal. The three-and-a-half-year-old could actually control the magic. Quite often, she would levitate toys her way, but sometimes, when she was angry, things around her exploded. Hermione had thankfully been there those times and could protect them all from any fragment of glass flying their way.

 

In July, it was time to move. The school wouldn’t start until October, but Hermione had come in contact with a Healer who would see her and Althea at the end of July. Besides, Professor Cox-Trotter had said the flat was hers from July, and Hermione didn’t see any reason to stay in Australia. It was better she had time to get used to living on her own before school started. Perhaps that would give her time to connect with Althea as well?

 

Althea, however, didn’t seem to like moving. When her parents said good-bye to Hermione and her, she started crying. It didn’t stop whatever Hermione did, and when they actually took the Portkey that would transport them to England, she was screaming in sadness.

 

Hermione felt both embarrassed and desperate when they landed. Professor Cox-Trotter had promised to meet her when she landed, and this was not the impression she wanted to give. She tried wriggling the girl and singing to her, but nothing helped.

 

Professor Cox-Trotter was smiling in sympathy, but looked a little troubled. In the end, Hermione put a Silencing Spell over her daughter, just so she could speak to the Headmistress.

 

“I don’t usually do that,” she mumbled to the lady. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Perhaps she is just hungry.” She hugged and comforted the still crying girl.

 

“I understand, Miss Granger. I have two children. Thankfully, they are both over fifty now and can actually explain what’s bothering them when they are upset.” Cox-Trotter smiled. “Perhaps I’ll just show you to your flat then and save the tour of the University for tomorrow?”

 

“That would be very kind,” Hermione said, smiling in relief. “And I’ll make sure to put a Silencing Spell over the flat, so no one else is bothered by her.”  
  


“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t think anyone is staying there over the summer.”

 

When Cox-Trotter turned around to show the way, Hermione finally let herself take in the surroundings. They were standing on a cobblestone avenue with stone walls around them. Over the walls, she could see four stories buildings in the same old-fashion mood as she had seen on the pictures of the University. She would have to look up more about the buildings when she was settled in. They were certain to have an interesting history.

 

They came to an open square with a great fountain in the middle. The flower decoration on the fountain was beautiful, but she didn’t have time to take a closer look because the lady led her to what appeared to be a dead end.

 

“This is the road leading into the Magical Department as well as the flats. Make sure to hold your wand when walking through. Only someone with a wand can pass. Or someone who is holding someone with a wand.” Cox-Trotter smiled at Althea who finally seemed to be calming down.

 

On the other side of the wall, there was yet another cobbled street, framed by trees. Houses that could very well be as old as Hogwarts popped up here and there, and she was sure the area must be magically enlarged. There were just too many houses she hadn’t spotted from the outside.

 

The biggest building was lying at the end of the street, and it looked more like an old mansion than a house.

 

“That’s the school building and where you’ll find the library,” Cox-Trotter explained. “Your living quarters are this way.”

 

She turned from the main street, and Hermione found herself in a nice garden in full summer bloom. The house was big as well. When they entered it, they came into a big hall with an open stairway leading up to the second floor where she could see doors.

 

“The ground floor is for all inhabitants of the house. You’ll find a small library, a common room and so on. I’m sure you’ll have time to explore it on your own. Your quarters are up the stairs.”  
  


The stone stairs were higher than they looked, and Hermione was breathing heavily when she reached the top. Cox-Trotter pretended not to notice, but walked much slower down the corridor before she stopped at the third door. “This will be your flat.”  
  


The room they entered was bright and much bigger than she had anticipated. The walls were white and the floor made of wood. It looked like it had been renovated for not too long ago, and a kitchenette was installed in one corner of the room. There were two doors leading from the main room and behind one was a bedroom. She guessed the other held a bathroom. The main room was already furnished, but Hermione decided she should Transfigure them when she got the chance.

 

“Like at Hogwarts, electrical devices don’t work very well here,” Cox-Trotter explained. “You are welcome to call any of the University’s house-elves if you are hungry. You’ll only pay for the groceries, or, well, they will be drawn from your account.”

 

“Okay, sounds good,” Hermione lied. She did not plan to take advantage over the poor house-elves.

 

“Do you need any help unpacking?” Cox-Trotter asked.

 

Hermione smiled. “No, I’ve developed a small spell that will make sure everything moves to where I want it to move.”

 

She arched an eyebrow. “Really? Do you mind showing it to me?”

 

“Not at all.” Hermione looked at her daughter who had now calmed down enough for Hermione to feel safe about putting her down. She was very heavy to carry to begin with, and Hermione stretched her arms at the loss of weight.

 

The three year old held a tight grip of her mother’s leg as she looked around the room. Hermione reached into her purse and pulled out the small package she had prepared. She put it on the kitchen table and tapped it with her wand. Immediately, the package unpacked itself, and things started to fly in all directions. Althea let out a small scream and hid her face against Hermione’s leg. It only took a few minutes for it all to be at their rightful places.

 

Cox-Trotter clapped her hands. “Fascinating! I’ve never seen such an effective unpacking spell before!”  
  


Hermione smiled shyly.

 

A knock was heard on the door. “Hello?”

 

Hermione could not see the door from where she was standing, so instead, she looked at Cox-Trotter who was standing in the opening of the small hallway.

 

“Oh, Professor Foster, come in and meet our newest Transfiguration postgraduate.”

 

“A postgraduate?” The male voice sounded surprised, and in the next moment, a man stepped into the living room. “Since when do postgraduates live here?”

 

Cox-Trotter scowled at him. “Miss Granger is a special case, Marcus. You will understand when you start to teach her.”  
  


Hermione hardly heard a word. She was too busy trying to conceal the fact that she was freaking out. It was _him_.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Serpent in Red and Perfect Imagination's Tomione fan for betaing this chapter! (Sorry I had to remove all the colours so people can't see how many changes you had to make. And sorry for the exclamation point!).

**Chapter 2**  
  
Lord Voldemort was very productive the four years after he’d visited the fairies and got a new look and his soul back. The first thing he tried to discover was what having a Soul Mate meant.  
  
Of course, he’d recognised his Soul Mate the moment he saw her, and he knew that it was just his luck that it had to be Harry Potter’s best friend. Even though he’d found it aggravating to have to interact with a Mudblood, when he had touched her, he’d felt the magic start to work. Not that he’d known what sort of magic it was (he still didn’t), but it had become awfully clear what he should do: Fuck her. He hadn’t minded it one bit and neither had she. Once it had been over and she had passed out in the bed—she might have passed out during the act; he had been too caught up in his own pleasure to notice—he’d placed the diamond on her stomach, and it had disappeared.  
  
However, no matter how much he researched about what had transpired between them, he didn’t come closer to understand what being a Soul Mate meant or what sort of magic was in that crystal that made his soul return. Or why he had to put it on her stomach afterwards, for that matter.  
  
Hence, he put that to the side and instead worked on a new way to influence the world. The direct being-a-dictator way hadn’t worked out so well. Therefore, he decided to go back to the plan he had when he was younger: influencing people by changing their beliefs. However, he didn’t have the patience to teach young children at Hogwarts anymore. Instead, he applied for a teaching position at Oxford University after he’d helped in making sure that one of the old Professors passed away. Sure, it was a little harder to change the beliefs of people whose first lesson was to think critically about everything, but he enjoyed the challenge.  
  
Not many wizards cared about going to university in Wizarding Britain. The Ministry educated most of the people they needed themselves when the students left Hogwarts. But only the most powerful and ambitious wizards and witches went to university. Of course there were ambitious and powerful people who didn’t bother with university as well. He had been one of them, preferring to get his knowledge head on. Alas, that meant that he had to write a doctoral thesis before he could actually become a professor. That took him a whole year.  
  
Despite his image of youth, the Head of the Magical Department was very fascinated by his somewhat controversial ideas, and he got the position right away. After only half a semester, all his students loved him. Some of them loved him so much he started a “study-group” for the most eager undergraduates and postgraduates.  
  
Now, that started to pay off.  
  
Two of his former students got high positions at the Ministry and would be Heads of their respective departments within five years. Two others became teachers themselves. Another three were about to take over the Daily Prophet and other well-read papers. All of them listened to his thoughts and ideas and were happily spreading them.  
  
The ideas? That wizards were better than Muggles, of course.  
  
After four years, he almost managed to push Hermione Granger out of his mind completely. The last thing he heard was that she’d moved to Australia, and he didn’t bother to keep an eye on her. He was busy enough, making sure no one realised whom he really was. He created a whole new life for himself. If anyone asked, he had the whole story thought out already. He had been raised in London by his very strict father, who’d unfortunately deceased fifteen years ago. He, “Marcus Foster”, had been home-schooled, as some fake paperwork he had sneaked into the Ministry would prove. When he’d got older, he had been travelling around a lot. He had supposedly participated in several different Muggle societies, like a literature club, chess club and a judo class. Those papers had been absurdly easy to fake, and he had also placed himself in some group-photos. No one ever bothered to look deeper than that.  
  
Alas, now he had a feeling his perfectly made world would come crumbling down on him. The blasted Mudblood was standing in the flat right next to his.  
  
At first, he was so busy trying to mask his horror and silently begging that the girl didn’t recognise him that he didn’t notice the creature standing next to her. Maybe that wasn’t so strange, though, the little girl was very … well, little. However, when he did notice her, he felt himself starting to get sick. Merlin, no! It couldn’t be…  
  
The equally sick look on Granger’s face told him that it could very well be what he feared. Damn fucking shit! He needed to distract Cox-Trotter.  
  
“Miss Granger?” he asked out loud. “Oh, I think I’ve heard a thing or two about you. But I’m afraid further pleasantries will have to wait until later. I’m running a little late to a meeting. I just heard that someone was here and got curious… Uhm, welcome to the building!”  
  
He didn’t want to call it fleeing. All he did was leave the room a little quicker than he usually did, and then, he Apparated away the moment he’d left the house. Hoping Granger wouldn’t tell the old lady too much, Voldemort took a deep breath before he called out.  
  
“Morgana.”  
  
The fairy was there already, of course. She became visible right in front of him, and her smile was wild with pleasure.  
  
“A child?” he mumbled in disbelief. “You made me create a child?”  
  
“Yes! Is it not just hilarious?”  
  
Voldemort shuddered. He really, _really_ didn’t find that amusing. Nor did he understand how that was possible. The first side-effect that happened when you split your soul was becoming impotent.  
  
“How?”  
  
“With a little help from our magic, of course.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“This is the price you paid for your new life, Tom Riddle,” Morgana stated, “and we always put the price after the favour. Big favour, big price.”  
  
With a laugh, she left him, and he sat down, staring at the grass for over an hour and trying to figure out what to make of this. The Mudblood would, without a doubt, confront him. He would have to decide how he would deal with that. He could always try to erase her memory and make her forget ever meeting him. No, that was too risky. Cox-Trotter would undoubtedly notice if anyone started messing with Granger’s memory. Should he bribe her to keep her quiet? Nah, too risky, too, with her being friends with Potter. If she knew there was something not right with him, she might just report him, no matter how much money or power he gave her. Neither did he think threatening would do much good. Bellatrix Lestrange’s mind had shown him how well Granger could stand torture. She probably would not be scared by the prospect of him torturing her. Especially not if she didn’t know whom he really was, and he didn’t want her to find out. Perhaps he could use the child against her? Yes, that was probably the best way. But how? If he threatened to hurt the girl, Granger would definitely run to that Potter, and he would have the Aurors up his arse.  
  
Perhaps if he … pretended like he wanted to get to know the child? However, it was forbidden for teachers and students to have an intimate relationship, so they would have to keep it a secret. Yes, that could work. At least then she wouldn’t talk about him.  
  
If she hadn’t already…  
  
Voldemort rose and Apparated back to the house. Surely the snooping Cox-Trotter had left now? Well, there was only one way to find out. He walked up the stairs and stopped at her door. It was quiet inside, which sounded like a good sign. He knocked carefully.  
  
She opened almost right away, and he suspected she had expected him. She made a gesture for him to come in.  
  
“I’m not just imagining this, am I?” she asked, looking shyly at him. “You are that Marcus, right?”  
  
Voldemort suddenly found his mouth very dry. What on earth was happening? He couldn’t be scared, could he?  
  
“If you mean the same Marcus whom you slept with a little over four years ago, then I’m afraid so,” he mumbled and looked around the room. “That little girl … younger sister?” Oh, please let it just be Morgana tricking him.  
  
“Daughter,” she answered, squashing his hope.  
  
“I see.” He had to lick his dry lips. “And … how old is she?”  
  
“Three and a half.”  
  
He nodded. Fucking shit. “And you didn’t happen to sleep with some other man as well that spring?”  
  
She shook her head. “I actually don’t even remember sleeping with you … just … well, asking you in and then waking up naked and aching, so I figured…” She hugged herself. “When I realised I was pregnant, it was already too late for an abortion.”  
  
It surprised him that she seemed to regret that. Then again, she was very young to be a mother and did seem to value important things in life. In that case, children would only be an obstacle for her.  
  
“What’s her name?” he found himself asking, taking in the child's dark brown hair and pale skin. She had the same eyes as her mother.  
  
“Althea,” she whispered. “I’ve always liked Richard Lovelace’s poems.”  
  
Voldemort nodded in understanding. Not that he liked Lovelace, only that he knew whom she was referring to. “And is she … healthy?  
  
He was surprised when tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head. It made him slightly cold. If Althea had been created by magic, there could be something wrong with her. He really did not want to deal with that.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and tried to wipe the tears away but more kept coming. “This may not be the best time for this conversation. I’m tired and homesick and worried and … I didn’t expect seeing you here!”  
  
He didn’t think he had ever been in a situation this uncomfortable before.  
  
“Quite understandable. I find myself more than a little shocked as well. But I assume we can talk more about it when you feel ready. I just… Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but Professor-student relationships are strictly forbidden. If anyone finds out about this and reports it, at least one of us will be kicked out. But I want to help you now,” he quickly added when he saw her stare at him in disbelief. “If you need anything, financially or, I don’t know, babysitting? Tell me. I just don’t want either of us to lose our position.”  
  
She nodded slowly. “Of course, I didn’t expect you to drop your career or anything like that. And this is a huge opportunity for me as well. I just don’t know what’s what anymore. Perhaps we could see each other tomorrow again?”  
  
He nodded. “Of course. I live in the flat next door. If there is anything you need, knock. Or you can call real loud. I can probably hear you.”  
  
She smiled faintly and nodded. He stood there for a few more moments, then sighed and left the flat. Back in his own flat, he sank down on the bed.  
  
What was this horrible feeling in his chest? Dread? He felt like it was ripping him apart. This would be a huge backlash in his plan to regain power. If he had to deal with a child who had problems…  
  
Or could he just put all of the responsibility on Granger? No, he didn’t trust the fairies. Perhaps they would try to use the child against him in some way? Even if they were usually just tricksters and not power hungry, Voldemort couldn’t help but to think the thought. He would have to keep a close watch on Granger. Just to make sure the fairies didn’t cause him any more trouble than they already had.  
  
Should he tell Granger that fairies were involved? No, that would be too risky. He would have no good explanation to why he had even spoken to a fairy. He would have to pretend that he didn’t know what was wrong with Althea. If there even was something wrong. Perhaps Granger was just paranoid? He had to find out for himself. First thing tomorrow, he would once again research all the books he had about fairy magic and hopefully find something.  
  
His mind made up, he rolled to his side and fell into a troublesome sleep.  
  
The next morning he got up early, made himself some tea and moved all his books about fairies to his kitchen table. Since the summer holiday had begun and he didn’t have anywhere to be or anything pressing to do, he let himself sink deep in his study mood. He was surprised when he heard a knock on the door and realised it was already well past noon. His stomach growled at him, and he sighed. After not having to eat for more than twenty years, he often forgot that he needed it now. There were of course spells to stop such human feelings, but he remembered the agony he had felt the last time he did it and wasn’t keen to experience it again. Besides, there were much worse things in the world than eating. Some kinds of food were actually very enjoyable. Like chocolate.  
  
He opened the door and was not surprised at all to see Granger standing there with her daughter next to her, holding her hand.  
  
“Is this a bad time?” she asked with uncertainty.  
  
“No, not at all. I was just about to make myself something to eat. Come in.” Since the initial shock had subsided, he felt much more at ease around her. “Can I make you something?”  
  
She shook her head. “No, thanks. Er, this is Althea. Althea, this is Professor Foster.”  
  
He forced a smile at the little girl, but she just looked at him with more intelligent eyes than he had expected from a three-year-old. “You can both call me Marcus, if you like. Everyone else does. Or well, not the other Professors, but they are stuffy.”  
  
Granger gave him a hesitating smile and followed him into the flat. He bid her to sit in his dark blue couch, and he watched as she helped the little girl sit as well. There was something … unnatural about the way she did it. He had seen many mothers with their children, and there was something lacking between Granger and the girl.  
  
He fetched himself an apple and sank down in the armchair opposite of the couch. He and Granger watched each other under a tense silence.  
  
“ _I want an apple, too_.”  
  
He almost choked and stared at the little girl. Oh sweet Salazar, she was a Parselmouth. Had Hermione noticed? Yes, she had because she was watching her daughter. Fuck, fuck, fuck, if Granger found out who he was…  
  
“Althea! What have we said about hissing to people?”  
  
Voldemort blinked. What? Althea had done this before? And Granger didn’t realise that she was actually speaking?  
  
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she does that,” Granger apologised, turning to him. “She never speaks, so I think that she is making up her own sounds to express herself.”  
  
She didn’t speak an ordinary language? That was very troublesome. Voldemort looked at the girl and could see a flash of disappointment. Perhaps the girl didn’t realise she was speaking Parseltongue? He remembered when he was young and he had got the strange feeling people didn’t understand him all the time. Especially not when he was angry. Later, he had figured that since the language came so naturally to him, he hadn’t made the distinction between English and Parseltongue until he became older. Perhaps that was the case with the girl? She had his genes after all.  
  
However, how could he explain to Granger about her daughter’s unique situation? If this was what she had meant by the girl not being healthy, someone would find out sooner or later. Parseltongue was almost always genetic, with Potter being the only known exception. If a Healer found out, Granger would undoubtedly ask him about it anyway.  
  
Okay, how to explain this without Granger jumping to the right conclusion?  
  
He rose and went to get another apple. Granger watched him with a puzzled expression as he handed it to the girl who smiled brightly at him.  
  
“Well … this is a bit awkward,” he mumbled.  
  
Granger stared at the girl who was happily eating the apple. “How did you know she wanted an apple?”  
  
“Well, before I answer that, I guess I have to tell you a little about my rather … interesting family-tree,” he said, improvising, using every fact he knew about people speaking Parseltongue.  
  
He was the only one left in Britain, not including Potter, but there were some known people in central Africa. However, it was quite clear he wasn’t of African heritage. Neither did he look very Korean. That only left South America.  
  
“I was raised by my father, and he didn’t like to talk much about my mother. She abandoned us when I was a baby. However, from what I have found out, she was from Brazil and a member of a large family of Parselmouths.”  
  
Something seemed to click in Granger’s head, and she gaped.  
  
“It’s genetic, so I speak it as well. But for obvious reasons, I haven’t wanted to show it.”  
  
She nodded slowly. “Yes, with Voldemort and everything. My friend Harry is one and… I can’t believe I didn’t recognise it! I just thought…” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Some good mother I am, not even recognising my daughter’s language.”  
  
“ _Mum’s crying a lot_ ,” the girl noticed, watching him expectantly.  
  
He realised she was testing to see if he could understand her again. He decided to answer in Parseltongue. “ _Yes, she does indeed. It’s because she doesn’t understand what you are saying._ ”  
  
The girl frowned. “ _Why not? I understand what she’s saying. You understand what I’m saying._ ”  
  
“ _You are not speaking the same language as she is._ ”  
  
That had the girl thinking. “ _Like Mr Samboa at the store? He speaks funny._ ”  
  
“ _Yes, like that. Could you try to speak in the same way she is speaking_?”  
  
“ _Why can’t Mum just learn to understand me?_ ”  
  
He chuckled. “ _Parseltongue, the language you are speaking, is very difficult to learn. You already understand English, so it should be easier for you speak it._ ”  
  
The girl squint her eyes together. “ _Am I speaking English now?_ ”  
  
“ _No. Listen to how your mother and I say our words and try to copy us, okay?_ ”  
  
The girl nodded, and Voldemort turned his focus to Granger, who seemed to be amazed, jealous and sad all at the same time.  
  
“I told her that she doesn’t speak in a way you can understand,” he explained. “Parseltongue is rather different to English, and since she is born as a Parselmouth, it’s much easier to only speak that. But I told her to try to copy our words. Understanding what you say is not the problem. She just has a problem pronouncing the words in English.”  
  
“Oh.” Granger didn’t seem to know what she should think. “Are there any other family secrets I should know about?”  
  
Voldemort could think of many, but none he wished to share. “Not that I can think of. I only had my father, and he died in an accident.”  
  
“Do you know if you did magic at a young age?”  
  
He nodded. “I have understood that I was unusually early, yes. Is she already doing magic?” He nodded at the girl.  
  
Granger sighed and nodded. “She almost hurt herself and others a couple of times now. I don’t know why.” She hesitated. “Do you think you could ask here?”  
  
“Why don’t you ask her yourself and I’ll just translate?” he suggested, sure that if he acted considerate, she would be easier to work with.  
  
“Okay.” She turned to her daughter. “Althea, do you know why you are using magic so much?”  
  
The girl looked from her mother to Voldemort who nodded.  
  
“ _It’s funny. Things happen._ ”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “She says that she does it because it’s funny when things happen.”  
  
Granger nodded at him and turned to her daughter. “But do you understand that it can be dangerous?”  
  
The girl frowned. “ _It’s funny._ ”  
  
“She just thinks it’s funny to do magic,” Voldemort translated. “I guess she doesn’t understand that things can be dangerous yet. She is only three.”  
  
“I just don’t want her getting hurt,” the mother mumbled and looked down at her hands.  
  
Voldemort watched her thoughtfully. “It’s hard for you, being a mother.”  
  
She just nodded.  
  
He rose with a sigh and came to sit next to her. He knew what the social protocol expected of him right now—comfort. This was one of the things he hated about his new life. As the Dark Lord, no one ever expected him to follow the social protocol. He could always do whatever he wished. However, since that way had almost got him killed, he tried something new now.  
  
When he touched her hand, an electric pulse went through him, and he immediately pulled back. It was the same electrical pulse he had felt the night they were together. Back then, he had thought it was the fairies’ magic just showing him that she was the one. Now, he wasn’t sure what to believe.  
  
Perhaps it was the Soul Mate issue? If he could only find a reliable book about the subject. All he had found so far were ridiculous Divination books that claimed that soul mates were the same as true love and other nonsense. He never loved, and he doubted Granger fancied herself in love with him.  
  
“What was that?” she wondered and touched him again, more carefully this time.  
  
Maybe it was because he expected it, but it didn’t feel as strong this time. “I’m not sure. But that is what I felt the first night I was with you.”  
  
She blushed and withdrew her hand. He noticed that her daughter was watching them with interest.  
  
“You remember then?”  
  
“Yes,” he answered truthfully, not seeing any reason to lie.  
  
“Why didn’t you stay?” He could hear the accusation in her voice, even if he could not see her expression.  
  
“I guess I was embarrassed.” That was a lie. He hadn’t seen any point in staying after he had done what the fairies demanded of him. “I never picked up a woman from a pub before or since that night. There was just something about you that had me… Well, that isn’t important.”  
  
Now she looked up at him. “It is.”  
  
He took his time to really look at her. She had aged since that night, even if her hair was just as frizzy and the plain brown eyes were just as haunted. Her body had changed though, becoming curvier, and her face had matured.  
  
“Enthralled,” he said, only half-lying. He had been fascinated by her when he’d found out who she was, but he was sure he could have stopped it if he had wanted to. “You had me enthralled.”  
  
“Then why did you leave?” she asked again, not as accusingly now.  
  
“Well, as I’ve said, it was embarrassing not being able to control my urges. I was just passing through the town and on the hunt for a place to sleep. I was about to ask at the pub when I saw you and the enthrallment began. I saw that you were drunk, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had to have you.”  
  
She didn’t seem to know whether to be flattered or appalled. The latter could become an obstacle in his plans. He wasn’t sure what had made him tell the story that way. Surely he could have come up with something more romantic? However, he wasn’t sure he wanted something romantic with her. Or did he?  
  
“So I was just a conquest.” It was a statement.  
  
He grimaced at her hurt face. “No, you were a lonely, beautiful, young woman whom I wanted to—” He stopped himself, remembering the child in the room.  
  
Granger seemed to remember her as well because she took the younger girl’s hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. You are probably seeing someone new and—”  
  
“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he interrupted.  
  
He’d finally snapped. Granger really made it hard on him to play the considerate, want-to-be-a-good-father act.  
  
“It was four years ago. Yes, I admit I acted badly, but one-night stands aren’t that unusual. Yes, it was a shame you had to go through the pregnancy alone and all that, but neither of us can change the past. So, instead of fretting about what happened, you should get a grip of yourself so we can solve this problem—because believe it or not, this time I won’t leave.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Serpent in Red and Perfect Imagination's Tomione Fan for betaing this chapter and bringing the narrative of this chapter together.

**Chapter 3**  
  
Hermione was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst. She hadn't meant to sound like she was dwelling on the past. In fact, she hadn't given it much thought at all until she met him again. Was it so weird for her to have questions about the only time she had sex?  
  
No! She refused to apologise.  
  
“I'm just trying to figure out whether I want you in our lives now or not,” she replied coldly. “I did try to find you when I realised I was pregnant, but I didn't. I accepted that I would have to raise Althea alone. Now you are suddenly here. How am I supposed to take that?”  
  
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, and Hermione was surprised to realise that he was trying to hold back his anger. What did he have to be angry about? He was the one who invited her over to talk.  
  
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to take this myself. It's not like this is a common situation for me either,” he finally muttered. “But I've told you why I acted as I did. And no, for what it's worth, I'm not seeing anyone.”  
  
It made her strangely happy that he hadn't found anyone else either. It would be even more embarrassing than it already was if he had a girlfriend or wife or something like that. She couldn't imagine how that conversation would go.  
  
“Okay. And you don't have any other children?”  
  
He shook his head. “No. With you being the notable exception, I do make a habit of actually knowing the women I sleep with and making sure they aren’t pregnant.”  
  
“That is good, I guess,” she said, not sure if he meant it as a joke or not. Apart from Ron and Harry, she wasn’t really good at reading men when it came to more private things. Since she didn’t want to make a fool of herself, she decided that it was best to change the subject. “Do you have any questions for me? Or should we start discussing how we should make this work?”  
  
Marcus blinked, perhaps surprised that she was changing the subject and letting go of the past. He sat down in the armchair again and put one leg on top of the other.  
  
“Well, I'm interested to know how you managed to take care of her and yet finish university with a bachelor’s degree.”  
  
“My parents helped me raise her.” She glanced at Althea who was starting to look bored. “Or actually, they did most of the raising.”  
  
“I see.” The fact did not appear to surprise him. “How come you moved away from them?”

  
“I thought it was about time I took a bigger part in my daughter's life. And when this opportunity arose, I thought it would be an excellent way to be with Althea and still further my academic career. I'll study half-time for the first couple of semesters to see if and how I manage. Professor Cox-Trotter was most sympathetic about my personal situation.”  
  
He snorted. “I bet she was. She will no doubt brag for ages about how she managed to get the famous Hermione Granger to Oxford.”  
  
She frowned, a new thought occurring to her. “Yes, a lot of people seem to know who I am after what I did in the war. You never saw me in the newspapers after the war was over?”  
  
He shrugged. “Maybe, no, I don’t think so. After the night we ... slept together, I went to Japan to work on my doctoral thesis. I guess I heard your name in passing a few times, but I never made the connection.”  
  
She guessed that sounded reasonable, but there was something about his casual manner that made her doubt that he was telling her the whole truth. Although, why would he lie about not knowing who she was before last night? They’d met in a Muggle pub, and neither of them had done any magic. He’d probably assumed she was a Muggle, just like she’d thought he was.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by a complaining noise from Althea followed by a lot of hissing. Hermione watched Marcus questioningly.  
  
“She's bored,” he translated.  
  
Once again, Hermione felt a tug of jealousy and self-doubt. How could she not have realised that her daughter spoke Parseltongue?  
  
“What does she want to do?” she asked him.  
  
He frowned at her. “Don't you think it would be better if you asked her yourself?”  
  
“But I ...” She bit her lip. Damn, she was doing it again: trying to put the responsibility on someone else. She looked at her daughter. “What do you want to do? I could go and get some of your books?”  
  
Althea shook her head.  
  
“Do you want your teddy bear?”  
  
Another negative response.  
  
Hermione thought hard. “Do you want me to make magical bubbles that you can chase around?”  
  
Now Althea’s face started shining, and she nodded enthusiastically.  
  
Hermione smiled back, relieved that she could find something for her daughter to do. “Try not to break anything.”  
  
Althea hardly heard—she was looking expectantly at her mother's wand. Hermione waved it so several bright coloured bubbles emerged. Quickly, they started floating around in the air. Althea let out a scream of happiness and tried to catch them. Hermione watched her for a while before she turned to Marcus again. He was watching the girl in amusement as well. Their daughter. The thought felt very strange. To Hermione, he didn't feel like the father of her child yet.  
  
When he noticed she was watching him, his smile widened. “See, you do understand what she needs.”  
  
She smiled, thankful for the reassurance. “I just wish she would learn to speak English soon.”  
  
“She will. Try to show her how to articulate it properly.”  
  
She nodded. “You really seem to know a lot about these things. Thanks for the suggestion.” She paused. “For Althea’s best interest, I guess we should work out how to do this between us then. You mentioned something about keeping it a secret?”  
  
“Mostly to protect you,” he said, leaning forward in the chair. “Cox-Trotter may believe you when you say that you had no idea who I was and that nothing is going on between us now, but ... well, there is a lot of pettiness around here, and there are still some people who believe women and Muggle-borns shouldn’t be accepted to the university. They would demand an investigation, and believe me, you do not want them dragging up every dirty little secret you may have.”  
  
Her spirit lessened when she heard that. She knew that everything Cox-Trotter had done for her could be seen as special treatment as well. There were probably a lot of people who wouldn’t mind kicking her out because of pure jealousy.  
  
“I guess you are right. We should keep it to ourselves. Besides, it’s nobody’s business. Nothing is going on between us. It’s not like you are giving me a higher grade or anything like that, right?”  
  
“Not at all,” he said with a laugh. “I wouldn't give anyone a higher grade just because they are good in bed.”  
  
She froze. Did he mean that she’d been good in bed or was it just a hypothetical statement? She scowled at herself for caring about such frivolous things and relaxed. It didn't matter. They were not together after all.  
  
“Right,” she said slowly, not really knowing how to respond to his comment with some eloquence. “Good.” She took in a deep breath of air, focusing back on the true issue at hand. “So, neither of us tells anyone about this. However, that will make it harder for you if you want to spend time with Althea,” she realised.  
  
That thought seemed to have just occurred to him as well because he looked at Althea, who was chasing a bubble around the kitchen table, and he frowned.  
  
“In public, yes,” he said contemplatively. “However, since we will be neighbours, everyone will understand if you need help in an emergency. But ... at other moments, we will just have to be sneaky. I mean, if you want me to spend time with her?”  
  
“Well, I think it would be good for Althea to know her father. But I'll be there when you spend time with her. I don't know you, and I won't let my daughter be alone with a stranger.”  
  
Even though she was sure about her statement, she still felt silly for saying it. True, it was always better to be clear from the start. Or so her mother had told her several times. Helen had even said that men in particularly needed to be told what was okay and what wasn’t. Otherwise, they would take advantage of you. Several times, Hermione had been forced to listen to Helen’s accusations that Marcus had only taken advantage of her and that she needed to be more careful in the future.  
  
“Of course,” he agreed. Then he hesitated. “When did you plan to meet a Healer?”  
  
“Next week, why?”  
  
“Well, I know a thing or two about healing. Would it be alright if I looked at her first?”  
  
She studied him closely. His dark blue eyes appeared very sincere, but there was something... She couldn't put her finger on it, but she just knew there was something that seemed familiar about him in a bad way. Although, she was sure she’d never seen such a gorgeous man before or since that one night four years ago.  
  
“What do you expect to find?” she asked, glancing at Althea. The girl just caught one of the bubbles that circled around the kitchen table’s leg. The bubble exploded into red sparkles, and Althea let out a squeal of joy.  
  
“I'm not sure,” he said slowly. “But there is something strange going on. I can see that the girl is very powerful for her age, and then … there is this touching thing between you and me. I've never heard about anything like it before. It's fascinating.”  
  
 _Or scary_ , Hermione thought. Nevertheless, being around academicians for so long, she learned that almost anything could be “fascinating” in one way or another.  
  
“I guess it couldn't hurt,” she replied. “Unless it's dangerous?”  
  
He shook his head. “I'll just run some diagnostic spells over her. Perhaps take a blood sample.”  
  
“Very well, when do you want to do it?”  
  
“Tomorrow? I need to look up some things first so I'm sure I do them correctly.”  
  
It was reassuring that he was so thorough. “Then, perhaps we should continue this discussion tomorrow? When we have got some time to sleep on what it is we want?”  
  
He nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Shall I come by tomorrow evening then?”  
  
“Yes, perhaps at six? Althea usually goes to bed around eight.”  
  
“I'll be there at six then.” He rose, and so did she.  
  
The awkward moment appeared when she wasn't sure if she should shake his hand or hug him. How did you say good-bye to a person you had slept but not kept in touch with? Althea saved her. A bubble came in Hermione's direction. When Althea rushed to catch it, Hermione captured her instead.  
  
“Let's go and start with lunch,” she told her daughter.  
  
Althea let out a happy squeal. She hissed something at Marcus, and he laughed. Hermione realised she felt much more relaxed, now that she knew Althea could talk, only not in English yet. Ever since her parents had brought it up, she’d been worried there might be something mentally wrong with her daughter. It was nice to know there probably wasn’t.  
  
Marcus held the door open for her, and she smiled, wishing him a good day.  
  
Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get Althea to speak English until it was time for dinner. Later, when the girl had gone to bed, she began redecorating the flat. In the living room, the walls got a bright, blue colour. The armchairs and sofa changed and got new, more comfortable cushions in grey. She kept the table black since she liked it. She also conjured up more bookshelves and filled them with the books she hadn't been able to place in the bookshelves already in her bedroom. The few paintings she had were placed on different walls. After that, she transfigured the curtains to a dark grey with red dots. Once she was done, the flat felt much homier.  
  
Looking at the result with satisfaction one more time, she went to get ready for bed. Last night’s sleep had been disturbed by her nerves over meeting Marcus again as well as homesickness. Tonight, she hoped to sleep well.  
  
When Althea woke her up at seven the next morning, Hermione felt more well-rested than the day before and didn't mind cooking them breakfast. She wasn't very good at it, but two portions of porridge she could manage. Her parents had always insisted on _not_ allowing Althea to eat all those “sugar-infested, health-risk” cereals, which were so popular. Her mother had gone so far to say: “If Althea is hungry enough, she will eat what we serve her”. Helen had claimed that it had worked well on Hermione when she was young.  
  
Apparently, they were right. Nowadays, Althea ate almost everything Hermione served her. Although, she did let her daughter point out what sort of extras she wanted in her porridge: apples, pears, cinnamon or cowberry. Althea was most fond of cinnamon but usually wanted to mix it with something else. Today, she wanted pears.  
  
Having renewed her subscription, Hermione read the Daily Prophet for the first time in years. Since Althea wanted attention, Hermione read the news out loud for her. However, she almost choked on a pear when she read the line: “ _The Boy Who Lived engaged!_ ”. Underneath was a picture of Harry giving Ginny a peck on the cheek as they stood outside the Ministry. Hermione couldn't say she was surprised that Harry and Ginny were getting married, but she was a bit sad that they hadn't told her themselves. Had they really grown that far apart? She decided to find out.  
  
So, after breakfast, she sat down to write a letter to them, telling them she was back in Britain and would love to meet them if they had a chance. She wrote down her address and made a mental note to ask Marcus if the school had any owls she could borrow. She hadn't bothered to buy one in Australia since both her schools there were more than happy to let their students use them.  
  
The rest of the day she spent trying to teach Althea how to say “Mum” while redecorating the bedroom in warm colours like brown, orange and red. Since the girl hissed at her, Hermione guessed she was trying at least.  
  
At precisely six o'clock, there was a knock on the door. Hermione would have been lying if she claimed she wasn’t nervous about seeing him again, but at least she wasn't sweating rivers like yesterday.  
  
“Good evening,” Marcus greeted her when she let him in. “You have redecorated.”  
  
“Yes, I wanted it to feel a bit cosier,” she replied, glancing at the pile of books he was carrying.  
  
She made a gesture for him to sit down at the kitchen table where Althea was busy drawing on a piece of paper with one of her colourful pencils. The girl just put her green pencil down and grabbed a blue one out of her box. She seemed to mark out the clouds, judging by the fluffy object the girl was drawing at the top the paper. The object in the middle of the paper seemed to be some sort of made-up animal.  
  
“It looks good,” he remarked, gesturing at the seating-area. His eyes went over the place one more time as he placed the books on the table and sat down in the chair next to Althea. “You must be good at Interior Design Transfiguration.”  
  
She shrugged, wondering if there was an “as oppose to” hidden in that statement. No, she was probably just paranoid. Or wasn’t she?  
  
Pushing that thought aside, she walked over to look more closely at the books he’d brought with him. They were all about healing, and she hadn't seen half of them before.  
  
“What exactly do you think you'll find?” she asked.  
  
He shrugged. “I don't know. If anything seems strange, I want to be able to check it right away.”  
  
“Okay, sounds good. Anything I should do?”  
  
“I guess you can tell her what we are about to do and that it isn't dangerous,” he offered, nodding at Althea.  
  
Althea was already watching them attentively. Hermione sat down on her knees next to her and took her hands.  
  
“Marcus here will do magic for you. You’ll only feel a small tickling.” Hermione made sure to keep her voice calm so Althea wouldn’t get scared.  
  
However, she needn’t worry. When Althea heard the word “magic”, she brightened and eagerly waited to see the magic. When nothing happened at once, she hissed something. Hermione looked at Marcus.  
  
“She asked when the pretty lights begin,” he answered.  
  
“It will begin when you sit still. Can you do that?” Hermione asked.  
  
When Althea nodded and demonstratively held her limbs and head motionless next, Hermione smiled at her and stroked her cheek before she stood up and stepped away.  
  
Marcus began speaking to Althea in Parseltongue. Apparently, he was explaining things to the girl, too, because she was hissing back, nodding her head and occasionally shaking no.  
  
It still surprised Hermione to hear how natural it sounded coming from them. She’d heard Harry speak it a couple of times, but it had always sounded strange and forced. This sounded as natural as bird song. She realised she wanted to learn Parseltongue but didn't know if she could. When Harry had said that Dumbledore understood it, Hermione had tried but been unable to find any books teaching it.  
  
When Althea sat absolutely still, Marcus began with a diagnostic spell, and Hermione watched fascinated as colours appeared around Althea. She was not good at diagnostic spells. She had focused more on learning how to heal noticeable wounds like broken bones, scratches, bruises and things like that. She could also brew potions for most common illnesses. Those things had, for obvious reasons, seemed more important to learn when you were friends with Harry Potter.  
  
However, when it came down to finding out what complex diseases could be hiding inside a body, she was at a loss. It wasn't that she wasn't interested; she just hadn’t had time to learn. There was so much else to learn in this world!  
  
Marcus, however, seemed to know what he was doing. Even though he didn't speak any of the spells out loud, the colours would sometimes change at a specific place over Althea’s body, and he would zoom in on that specific body part to sort through the various aspects of that colour.  
  
Hermione knew the most basic things: The yellower the colour was, the better. But if it started to get blue, something was probably wrong. Purple indicated you were near death. The colour red meant that you, or a part of your body, were dead.  
  
When he zoomed in on the lower part of Althea’s stomach and the spell turned green, Hermione gasped. She never heard that the colour could turn green.  
  
Marcus frowned but didn't say anything. Instead, he moved up to Althea’s head and looked at the different colours there. There was a small hint of green in her brain when he zoomed in at the different parts. Hermione knew that was where the reptilian brain was located from reading her parents’ books about Muggle biology. What did that mean?  
  
He stopped casting the spell and sat back on the chair. Althea hissed something, and Marcus absentmindedly patted her on the head.  
  
“Yes, you were a very good girl. Why don’t you get back to your colouring?”  
  
Althea, always an obedient child, did as she was told while Marcus led Hermione over to the couch.  
  
“What was that?” Hermione asked carefully.  
  
“I'm not really sure.”  
  
“But you have an idea?”  
  
He grimaced. “I'm not sure, and I don't wish to alarm you.”  
  
She crossed her hands. “Too late. Just tell me and we can work it out together.”  
  
He sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. “I'm suspecting that there is something ... not human in her Triune brain and her reproductive system.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow. “And what does that mean? How could there be something not human inside her?”  
  
He started to look through his books. “That, I do not know. But because it is in the most basic parts of her body, I suspect it's not something we can remove or cure. It's just ... there. However, whatever it is, I’m sure we can find a way to control it if need be.”  
  
Hermione stared at Althea who was drawing in concentration. The girl was not aware of her mother’s confused look.  
  
“But how can this … something be inside of her?”  
  
“I have no idea.”  
  
He answered a little too quickly for her to believe he was completely honest. She put her hands on her hips.  
  
“Really? Why do I get the feeling that you do know?”  
  
He didn't answer. Instead, he began reading. Her eyes narrowed, and she was about to give him a piece of her mind when Althea made a sound. Hermione turned and saw her daughter gaping.  
  
“Hungry?” she asked.  
  
Althea nodded. Hermione couldn’t wait until she was alone with Althea again, so she could try to get her to say “yes” at least. She didn’t want to show Marcus her inability to teach her child simple words.  
  
Hermione looked at Marcus again. He was still staring down at the book with a frown on his forehead. Well, she could give him a piece of her mind after she had fed Althea and eaten something herself. Manners made her ask him if he cared for some dinner, but he declined.  
  
It took maybe half an hour, and then, Althea became sleepy as she usually did after evening meals. Since Marcus still made no indication to move and seemed entranced by the book he was reading, she helped Althea get ready for bed. Luckily, this was not one of those nights she just wouldn't fall asleep. At eight, Hermione could go back to the annoying man sitting on her couch. Just to be sure they wouldn’t wake up Althea, she put an One-Way Silencing Charm on the door. This way no sound would go into the bedroom, but she could still hear it if Althea called.  
  
“So,” she said harshly to make her presence known. “Will you tell me now how come my daughter has something not human inside of her?”  
  
He reluctantly looked up. “I said I didn't know. I'm trying to find out.”  
  
She wasn't sure whether she should believe him or not. Again, she got the feeling he was lying. But why would he do that? He had no reason to, did he? Unless he had some sickness in the family he was embarrassed telling her about? She sat down on the couch next to him, determined to figure out what he was trying to keep from her. Her daughter’s health was at stake after all.  
  
“Don't you have any idea? I can help with research, you know.”  
  
He sighed. “I think I’ve heard about something similar to this before. But I'm not even sure there _is_ anything wrong. She may just be ... different. There is a book I've heard about, but ... I'll have to try to find it. I got some contacts that may be able to help me find it, but it's safer if I do it alone.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow. “You know who I am, right?”  
  
He frowned. “Yes, so...?”  
  
“Did you know I broke into the Ministry and pretended to be a Death Eater supporter to be able to steal something that belonged to Voldemort? Or that I helped Harry break into Gringotts, pretending to be Bellatrix Lestrange? Which I could only do because she left hair on me when she tortured me for knowledge.”  
  
He just stared at her.  
  
“Believe me when I say I can handle almost anything, your contacts included,” she concluded, crossing her arms.  
  
His reply surprised her. “What did you steal?”  
  
She blinked. “What?”  
  
“What did you steal at the Ministry that belonged to Voldemort?”  
  
Why did he sound so angry?  
  
“A Horcrux,” she explained casually, unsure why he seemed to get so angry. “We—Harry, Ron and I—managed to find and destroy four of them. He made seven in total.”  
  
The dark look in his eyes was almost scary, but then he blinked and looked more concerned than angry. “It seems like quite a risky thing for three teenagers to do.”  
  
“Is that it?” she asked, uncrossing her arms again. “You don't think I can manage because I'm young?”  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “Well, yes. Also, you have a daughter to take care of now. Surely you don't plan to risk making her an orphan?”  
  
She blinked. “If your contacts are that dangerous, why are you even going there yourself?”  
  
“I’ve been able to handle them before. They know me from my previous research and will respect me, despite the fact that they are not pleasant people. And they will be even more unpleasant if you are there. It will just be easier for me if I go alone,” he said, starting to sound annoyed.  
  
Hermione understood that he just didn’t want her there. It made her angry, but she knew she couldn’t force him. Instead, she decided to put his back against the wall, metaphorically.  
  
“Fine. However, even if I did go and got myself killed, Althea would still have you, so she wouldn’t be orphaned. Right?”  
  
“No one knows I’m her father,” Marcus commented, frowning. “And I’m sure your parents would be reluctant to let your daughter be raised by a stranger.”  
  
“You know there are medical ways to determine fatherhood,” Hermione said dryly. “But I guess you are right. My parents wouldn’t like the idea of _you_ raising Althea at all, especially if I can’t tell them I found you. Couldn’t we at least tell my parents that you are Althea’s father?”  
  
He looked very uncomfortable. Then, he sighed, seemingly resigning. “When I’m no longer your teacher, I guess we can tell people the truth. However, I think it would be best if you were actually alive to tell your parents. Besides, I do want a chance to get to know you properly. That would be hard if you got yourself killed.”  
  
The sincerity in his voice made her believe that he was telling the truth about wanting to get to know her. Perhaps they could actually become friends?  
  
“Well, then you’ll just have to stay alive as well so you can get to know me,” Hermione replied, giving him a smile.  
  
“I will do my best,” he promised, smiling back.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks to Nerys and Serpent in Red for betaing

**Chapter 4**  
  
Voldemort was not sure what he would do about Granger and the girl. After the meeting when he had used a diagnostic spell on the child, he’d promised to contact Granger when he had more information. She’d wanted to come along, but he didn't want her there. She was quite stubborn, and he’d thought back to the time when he could just torture those who didn't obey him. Nevertheless, he’d been able to steer her away from the ridiculous notion of coming with him. It would have been too hard to explain how he knew what sort of books known Death Eaters had. Even harder would it be to hide the fact that he had to break into a known Death Eater’s house to get it.  
  
It took him two days to acquire the book he needed and a night to read through it. The information was not uplifting, but at least he found out what the deal with the diamond was. The fairies used that type of diamond to store a little of their magic in, and when he’d placed it on Granger's stomach after the intercourse, the magic had mixed with her egg and his sperm, creating a foetus. He was quite certain that it was the magic in the diamond that had made them able to conceive at all.   
  
It made him angry and desperate at the same time. Since the fairy magic was located at the most fundamental parts of Althea’s body, he wasn't sure he could remove it, and he didn't want to experiment. However, he didn't want to tell Granger about fairies, since that would no doubt lead to uncomfortable questions. She was bright enough to start to look for an answer herself and possibly stumble over the right one. He would not underestimate young people again.  
  
It was just past eight in the evening when he went and knocked on her door. No one opened, but he could hear sounds coming from inside. It sounded like crying. Without really reflecting on why, he broke down her ward, opened the door and stepped inside. The crying was coming from the bathroom. He found Granger sitting on the floor next to the bathtub, looking completely exhausted as she held the crying child on her lap.  
  
“Oh, thank Merlin,” she mumbled when she saw him. “Please, help me!”  
  
He stepped inside and tried to analyse what was wrong. When he couldn't see anything obvious, he asked.  
  
“Food-poisoning.” Granger groaned. “I can't cook and gave us food-poisoning or something.”  
  
It would have been amusing if the other little girl weren't crying so loud. “Why haven't you taken a potion?”  
  
“Threw it up.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Granger seemed to be on the edge of tears as well. “I don't know what to do.”  
  
If there was something Voldemort could do, it was giving orders. “Stay there—you look ready to faint—and just tell me where you have the potion. I know the spell Healers use that allows you to keep it down.”  
  
She did what he said without questioning him, and fifteen minutes later, he managed to make both of them ingest the potion. Only a little while later, the child fell into an exhausted sleep. For the first time ever, he held her in his arms as he carried her to her bed. She was heavier than he would have guessed, but still so fragile. He really had to fight the impulse not to see how easy it would be to break one of the tiny bones. At the same time, he was fascinated. He hadn't really seen a child this small up close since he had tried to kill Potter, and even then, he had been standing several feet away. Now he was actually holding a small, warm, breathing creature which he wasn't about to kill. It was ... a new experience. He couldn't say he was overwhelmed by some sudden fatherly feelings, but he was sure he would be a great influence on this child's life. He would make sure of that.  
  
Althea.   
  
For some reason, he hadn't tasted that name yet. It wasn't what he would have chosen, but it suited her.  
  
He put the sleeping child down in her bed right next to Granger's king-sized one. Then he went back to the woman still leaning against the bathtub.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asked in his most considerate tone. It was a pretense he had to use quite often since she stepped into his life, and he did not like it.  
  
“Disgusting.” She groaned. “I think I've puke in my hair.”  
  
“I can't say you smell fantastic,” he replied dryly.  
  
She grimaced.  
  
“I can help you to the shower if you like?” he suggested out of impulse.  
  
She studied him, looking like she was longing for a bath and hesitant of having him go through even more trouble for her sake. After a moment, she made up her mind. “Since I don't want to go to bed like this, I'll take you up on that offer.”  
  
He was having mixed feelings of annoyance and amusement over the situation as he helped her stand and move into the bathtub. Then he closed both the door to the bedroom and the door to the living room so they didn't disturb Althea.  
  
“How did you manage this to begin with?” he asked as he cleaned the floor in the bathroom and the toilet from all signs of sickness with a quick spell.  
  
“I made an attempt at a chicken dish my mother used to make. Althea loves it. I don't know what was off, but I guess all of it.” With a grimace, she turned on the water and then looked at him with a frown.  
  
His eyes narrowed. “I won't leave you alone when you have just taken that potion. You know one of the side effects is fainting, and that never goes well with water.”  
  
She looked a little relieved. “Well, turn around while I undress at least.”  
  
That he did. He couldn't claim that he wasn't attracted by her, but he wasn't certain that was a path he should take. Sex with her had been … nice, but he told himself he could do without. Sex made women emotional, and he hated that. It also made them start to assume they could do things with him and touch his things (in a non-sex way), and that just wasn't what he wanted. He would make sure not to light that fire between them. She didn't seem to be interested in any sexual companionship either, so it probably would not be that hard.  
  
He heard the shower curtain close and waited while she started to wash herself. It didn't take more than ten minutes, but he got quite hot from the fumes and unbuttoned his robe. He was wearing a white T-shirt and tailored pants underneath. No one but him knew how he had suddenly acquired a lot of money, and he would make sure to keep it that way. He hung the dark blue robe on a hook.   
  
It was quite boring just standing there. Perhaps he should have brought a book? No, that would probably be considered rude. Instead, he let his eyes wander over the many things in her bathroom. A cupboard was standing next to the sink, and it was filled with different things: hair products, ointments, some cheep jewellery, rubber ducks … those were probably Althea’s. He doubted Hermione was still playing with them. She wasn’t _that_ young after all.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and saw her shape behind the shower curtain. No, she was definitely not that young anymore. Not that he cared. No. Never. He was just noticing. Like how big her hair really was. Yes, that was what he was watching. Not the outlines of her arse and breasts. That would be silly.  
  
To prove to himself that he wasn’t at all interested in her body, he turned his head to his left where the toilet was. Rolls of toilet paper were placed in a neat row and a book was lying on the shelf above it. It seemed to be some sort of Muggle amusement book. _Things to do when constipated_ , the title read. Yes, because that was exactly what you needed when you couldn’t poop: things to laugh at. And people asked why he thought Muggles were a waste of space?  
  
A small splash was heard, and he turned his head just in time to see Hermione’s silhouette fall down in the bathtub. He sighed in annoyance. Why hadn’t he just cast a Scouring Charm over her and got her into bed? Now he had to be all heroic and help the damsel in distress and all that. It was another thing he missed from being the Dark Lord. Back then, people had never counted on him to save anyone. Now, if he didn’t help her, she would start to ask questions and become sad. It would be easier just to help her. Thus, he pulled the curtain away and saw her sitting down in the bathtub. She gave him a weak smile.  
  
“Guess my last bit of energy disappeared,” she whispered. She looked pale as a sheet.  
  
Voldemort hardly heard her. Instead, his eyes fell down at her round breasts. They seemed to have filled out a bit since he last saw her. Her legs were closed, but he could make out some brown pubic hair...   
  
Oh, Merlin, he shouldn't be watching her like that. He didn’t want to engage in that sort of relationship with her. No matter how deliciously squeezable her breasts looked. No.  
  
“Come here,” he said, trying to look away from her petite yet curvy, naked body.  
  
She barely had enough energy to raise her arms. He pulled her up and dried her off with a Drying Spell which made her hair look even more like a bird's nest. When he saw how much her legs were shaking, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her into her bedroom.  
  
“Aren't you quite the knight,” she mumbled against his chest.  
  
“I do my best,” he replied, trying not to think about the fact that his left arm was touching her breast. It was an impossible task, considering that just touching her made his skin hypersensitive to begin with. The fact that she was naked in his arms was not something his groin was ready to forget either. He tried to remind himself why he couldn’t just throw her down on the bed and fuck her senselessly. Just look at those legs. He wondered how flexible she was...  
  
“I'm sorry to put you through this.” Her mumble broke his train of naughty thoughts, and before the temptation made him do something he really shouldn’t, he put her down carefully on the bed.  
  
“Don't be,” he mumbled back and pulled the covers over her body, more so it wouldn't tempt him further than to comfort her. “Do you think you can sleep?”  
  
“I don't think I could do anything else,” she admitted, her eyes closed.  
  
“Do you want me to stay the night?”  
  
Her eyes opened a little. “You wouldn't mind?”  
  
He shrugged, feeling like he could just as well continue to play the part of a hero. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. I'll leave the door open and sleep on the couch.”  
  
“Or ...” She bit her lip. “You could sleep here. The bed is quite big.”  
  
Her offer made him hard, but it was not what he had planned to do with her. If he started to fuck her now … why wasn’t he? Oh, right, his plan with her was different. However, perhaps it should also include sex? If he took his time with her, he could make sure she didn’t do the same annoying things other women had done. Yes, that would be for the best. However, in the meantime, he would have to control himself.  
  
“I think it will be best if I sleep on the couch, Hermione. But if there is anything you need, just call, okay?”  
  
She nodded, a small flush appearing on her cheeks, but then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A minute later, she was asleep. Voldemort exhaled in relief and stepped away from the temptation. To occupy his thoughts, he went out to the living room. This would be an excellent time to snoop. He wanted to know more about her so he would know what to expect from her. He had read her thesis, and it was remarkably brilliant for someone her age, even if it could have used a more thorough background check. Denise Cathorn had done a similar project, looking on Animagi, and come to a completely different conclusion. He was surprised Granger hadn't heard about that but was looking forward to enlightening her about it. Nevertheless, he was quite sure she would not get swayed easily in her academic beliefs. He would have to go for her emotions. That wouldn't be too hard, especially not if he could stay away from sex.  
  
Once again he shuddered as he remembered the sensation he felt every time he touched her. It wasn't unpleasant, quite the opposite, but he didn't like that he was unfamiliar with it. He had no idea what the pleasure meant. Until he did, he didn't want to experience it again. The mind-blowing experience of being inside her had been more intense than anything he had ever felt. His soul had become whole the very moment he ejaculated inside her, and he had been glad she hadn't been awake to see it. He had been shuddering for minutes, feeling weak and nauseous. Her presence had been annoyingly soothing. After maybe an hour, he had finally got strong enough to get dressed and leave.  
  
Enough about that!   
  
He scowled at himself and began looking around to find where he should start snooping. Bookshelves. He methodically went through her books and realised they had quite similar taste in books. However, where he had a burning passion for the Dark Arts, she seemed to enjoy Muggle novels. He could see both well-known classics and books that, when he looked more closely, appeared to be silly romance novels. Oh, well, she was a Gryffindor woman after all.   
  
He went around in the room, looking at everything. Most of the pictures were unmoving and featured her parents and Althea. Two were from when she graduated in Australia. That came as no surprise to him; she was proud of her academic achievements. However, he hadn't expected her to be more proud of that than of her friends. There was only one photo of Potter, and it was placed in the bookshelf, almost hidden behind books. It was a wizard photo, and they were laughing together on a couch in a place he didn't recognise. There was no photo of anyone in the Weasley family even if he had it on good authority that she had been close with the two youngest ones. Especially the boy. Interesting.  
  
The room held no big secrets at all, he concluded when he had gone through it all. The only thing worth seeing was a letter from Potter. Apparently, the two friends had drifted apart and were now looking to get back in contact. The letter didn’t reveal anything useful though, just some small talk and a confirmation that Potter and his fiancée would be happy to meet her. Perhaps her bedroom would be more interesting when he had a chance to be there alone. That would no doubt have to wait until she was away. Perhaps she would ask him to babysit then. That would give him plenty of time to continue the snooping.  
  
Since it wasn't even ten o'clock yet, he didn't feel tired, so he pulled a book from her shelf and sat down to read. However, the picture of Granger's naked body kept popping into his head. He wanted to see it again. But he wouldn't. No. Not at all.  
  
Somehow, he did manage to fall asleep after a lot of tossing and turning, but it felt like he hadn't slept at all when he was woken up by Althea's hissing next to him. The young girl watched him with interest from where she was sitting in the armchair.  
  
“ _I'm hungry_ ,” she stated.  
  
“ _I take it you are feeling better?_ ” he answered in Parseltongue and yawned.  
  
“ _Yes. And now I'm hungry._ ”  
  
He sat up on the couch he had been sleeping on. “ _What do you fancy for breakfast, then?_ ”  
  
“ _I want the grey goo with apples.”_ She was quite the little dictator, wasn’t she?  
  
“ _Grey goo?”_ he asked, amused.  
  
“ _Yes, that thing.”_ She went to the kitchen and pulled out a colourful package with oatmeal. “ _Mum makes_ _it out of this.”_  
  
“ _I see. Well,_ _I think I can make some porridge_ ,” he said as he finally rose and stretched his back. After his snooping last night, he knew where Granger kept everything. A couple of minutes later, he was cooking, and Althea was sitting on the chair at the kitchen table, waiting.  
  
“ _Don't you think you should go and wake up your mother and ask if she wants some?_ ” he asked her.  
  
“ _Mum doesn't understand me_ ,” Althea replied matter-of-factly.  
  
“ _Try._ ”  
  
Althea sighed but jumped down from the chair and ran to the bedroom. Voldemort was surprised to hear some strange sounds that appeared to be a mix between Parseltongue and English. She would probably figure out how to speak soon enough. She had quite the vocabulary for someone her age. It must be his good genes.  
  
After a few minutes, Granger appeared in the doorway, wearing a dressing gown and holding her daughter's hand.  
  
“Good morning,” he bid her in his most neutral voice. “Are you feeling better today?”  
  
She wouldn't really meet his eyes. “Yes, thank you for staying. And making breakfast. I'm starving.”  
  
“I'm not surprised,” he replied and divided the porridge in three bowls before he served them.  
  
She smiled shyly at him, and he pretended like nothing was amiss. Hopefully whatever impulse she had got last night to invite him to her bed had passed and she wouldn't attempt anything like it again. Yes. That was what he hoped...  
  
“Oh, I've forgotten to ask; why did you come by last night?” she asked after they were eating in silence for a few minutes.  
  
“Oh.” He realised that he still hadn't come up with what he was supposed to tell her about what he had found in the book. “I found the book, and I've read it.”  
  
“And?” She looked hopeful.  
  
“Magical overload,” he improvised. “She has extra magic inside of her, stored. I think that whatever it is between the two of us resulted in a very special magical being. She is a witch. Just more powerful.”  
  
“I see.” Granger seemed both relieved and surprised. “How did you come to that conclusion?”  
  
“The book pointed out the common signs.”  
  
“Then I want to see it for myself.”  
  
His eyes narrowed. “You can't. I don't have it anymore.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I had to read it at my contact’s place. He doesn’t let you borrow anything.” He was so good at lying.  
  
However, she didn't really seem to believe it. “Couldn't you copy it?”  
  
“Not really. My associate is not the kindest spirit. I thought you could just take my word for it. It isn't really dangerous for her, but I think we should consider giving her a wand a little earlier, so she will have time to learn some control over her magic.”  
  
She crossed her arms. “Who wrote the book?”  
  
Damn. If he took too long to come up with an answer, she would definitely know something wasn't right. He could stall maybe three seconds. Did he know any author who had written anything about this sort of thing? Yes, but she would no doubt look them up. Could he make it up? No, same thing. He couldn't give her the real author's name because then she would be scared since the real author was rather infamous. What options did he have?  
  
“It was written under the pseudonym Gaius Gaia,” he made up. “It’s from 1569 by a farmer's daughter, and as you know, people didn't really listen to farmers or women back then. When people found out who she really was, some of them got rather angry and jealous, I suspect. Only one copy of her book survived. The rest was destroyed, and she was given to the Muggles as a witch. They hanged her.”  
  
Granger's eyes widened. “That's horrible! But what is the title of the book?”  
  
“ _The Magick_ ,” he replied, choosing a word he knew was well used. “Not the most original title and the book isn’t well-known. As I’ve said, I only heard rumours about it before and hardly that.”  
  
“But you still trust what it says?”  
  
“It explains Althea's symptoms in detail. Of course, they didn't know so much about the brain back then, but there was a picture showing the green colouring in the brain at the exact same spot as we saw on Althea.”  
  
“Who did she do the test on?” Granger asked suspiciously.  
  
“Herself. She was a very powerful witch.”  
  
She finally seemed to believe him, but he was sure she would try to look the author up as soon as she could. He would have to come up with something. Perhaps write a fake paper about Gaius Gaia?  
  
“So when do you think we should give Althea a wand?” Granger asked while she magically cleansed the empty bowls and put them away.  
  
“Not before she learns how to speak,” he said thoughtfully.   
  
Then he realised what she had said: “We”. She was counting on him to be here. Well, that wasn't so strange considering that he had said he wouldn't leave this time. However, wasn't it a bit early for her to count on him? The thought made him uneasy in a way he hadn't felt before. Why he felt so uncomfortable, he had no idea.

 

xxx

  
Since the other two were no fun at breakfast, Althea left them and went to the bedroom. She didn't really have a plan on what she wanted to do in there, but it was more fun than listening to old people blabbering away. It wasn't about her, so she wasn't interested in what they were talking about.  
  
While inside the room, she went up to the window to watch the pretty light reflecting into the room. Right under the window still was the best place to sit. From there you could see the light come in, hit the pretty lamp hanging from the ceiling and make pretty lights on the walls. When the light was right enough, she would get up and start to make shadow-shapes with her body. It was funny. However, this time, a shadow broke loose. Althea watched in interest as it took the form of a small, black snake.  
  
“Hello, Althea,” the shadow whispered.  
  
“Hi,” Althea answered, forgetting that she couldn't speak in ways ordinary people understood. Only the Marcus man understood. He was fun.  
  
The black shadow snake, however, understood and responded. “Do you want to play?”  
  
Althea nodded. It was always fun to have new playmates. She hadn't had that many in her short life. Her granma and da-da hadn't really wanted her to play with other young children, and her mum didn't seem to want it now either. Not that Althea minded so much—she could play with her imaginary friends instead.  
  
“What do you want to play?” the creature asked.  
  
“We can play with the pretty light,” Althea suggested.  
  
“That sounds fun. How do you play?”  
  
Althea showed the creature, and they started to play. The creature was very funny. Once and again, it would start to glow really bright so Althea could make even more shadows on the wall. She didn't really have a concept of time; but after some time had passed, her mum called her, and Althea told her new friend she had to leave.  
  
“You can come again another time,” Althea told the creature.  
  
“I'd like that. You are a very special little girl, Althea, and I’d like to help you and play with you. But then you have to promise to keep me a secret. You can't tell anyone about us playing because then they may want to play with us as well and that wouldn't be fun, would it?”  
  
Althea didn't really understand why it had to be a secret, but she nodded. “Okay. I won't tell them.”  
  
“Until next time, then.” The creature disappeared into the shadows again.   
  
Althea tilted her head and ran her hand over the wall where the creature had disappeared. There was no opening. The creature must know magic then. Fun! Althea would have to find a way to make it teach her. She wanted to know magic as well. Magic was fun.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Nerys and Serpent in Red for betaing

**Chapter 5**

 

Hermione was quite embarrassed the day after Marcus had helped her while she was sick. She didn't know what on earth had made her suggest that he could share her bed. It had just felt so ... natural at the moment. He was always so helpful and thoughtful. And when he’d carried her, her body had been singing by the close contact to him. Not in a horny way, just in a very comforting way. He made her feel so safe. However, if you didn’t count the times they were touching, she tried not to watch him as anything other than her teacher-to-be. She wouldn’t want to risk her academic career just because she might find the teacher attractive. Hence, she focused on the things she didn’t like. There was something she found quite … boring with him. He was mostly so controlled and proper, while sometimes he was just acting plain strange, like when he’d explained the book to her which stated Althea was just more powerful than normal wizards and witches. Hermione got the feeling Marcus was hiding something. She had no idea why he would do that, though. Perhaps she was just being paranoid?

 

Nevertheless, the day after the “sleep-over”, Hermione and Althea would have a meeting with the specialist at St. Mungo’s. Since Hermione now knew that Althea’s only problem was that she was speaking Parseltongue, she was at a loss on what to do. She didn’t want the Healers at St. Mungo’s finding out Althea was a Parselmouth, but she did want to see a Healer to get a second opinion on those green-thingies that had showed up when Marcus had done his scanning.

 

“Althea?” Hermione asked her daughter when they were sitting at the dinner table, eating breakfast.

 

Althea looked up, her mouth full of porridge.

 

“You know what secrets are, right?”

 

“Shhes,” Althea said (or rather, tried to say) and nodded. She was making progress with speaking English, but it still sounded more like Parseltongue than English.

 

“Well, the language you are speaking, that only you and Marcus can understand, is a secret language,” Hermione tried to explain. She didn’t think Althea would understand if she started talking about how people might think she were evil and things like that. It was after all only important that Althea knew it was a secret.

 

“Shheeecheest?” Althea hissed, sounding intrigued.

 

“Yes. And we don’t want other people to know about our secrets, right?”

 

Althea shook her head, her eyes shining with interest.

 

“Today, we will go and see the Healer, and then, it’s important that you don’t speak Parsel with him. You can try to speak English and make other sounds, just not Parsel, okay?” Hermione really hoped Althea understood what she meant.

 

“Schnoo Pschech,” Althea said seriously, and Hermione was quite sure she meant “no Parsel”.

 

She smiled at her daughter and stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Are you finished?”

 

Althea nodded and showed her the empty bowl.

 

“Good. Why don’t you go and wash your hands, and I’ll come in to help you brush your teeth when I’ve cleaned up?”

 

Althea nodded again, jumped down from her seat and ran to the bathroom.

 

Half an hour later, they walked down the stairs to Floo to St. Mungo’s. Hermione didn’t want to Apparate with Althea unless she really had to, and she had discovered yesterday that the fireplace in the foyer of her house was connected to the Floo Network. She hoped that Althea would like that way of transportation better.

 

It turned out that she didn’t, but when they arrived at St. Mungo’s, one of the Healers was quick to come and help Hermione calm her down. Fifteen minutes later, they were accepted into the Healer’s office.

 

“Peculiar.” The Healer was a short, middle-aged wizard with more wrinkles on his forehead than Hermione had ever seen on someone that young. He was looking into Althea’s mouth with some sort of tube Hermione had never seen before.

 

“What is peculiar?” Hermione wondered, a bit worried. She was sitting next to Althea, holding her hand. The small hand squeezed her fingers tightly now and again, and Hermione tried to keep her calm by stroking her back.

 

The Healer extracted the tube from Althea’s mouth. “There is nothing physically wrong with her throat or mouth. No sign of any hexes or curses either. You say that you think she is trying to speak sometimes?”

 

“Yes. Ever since we moved back here, she has been starting to make sounds that sound almost like English.”

 

The Healer regarded Althea closely for a moment. “It could be environmental. You said your parents took care of your daughter?”

 

Hermione nodded. “When I was in school, yes.”

 

The Healer sighed. “Sometimes, children who have experienced some sort of abuse can be late in their development to speak. If she is, as you say, starting to speak now that you have moved away from your parents, it seems likely that there was something down there that made her unable to speak.”

 

Hermione frowned and was about to retort when she realised that this was the perfect explanation to get the Healer off her back. However, she didn’t want to paint her parents out as child abusers.

 

“My parents were always nice to both me and Althea. They would never abuse her. Can’t you see if there is something else wrong? In her brain?”

 

The Healer sighed. “Very well.” He took his wand and started to scan Althea’s body. However, it wasn’t the same scanning technique Hermione had seen Marcus use.

 

“What sort of scanning method is that?” she asked, curious.

 

“It’s a new invention. Instead of scanning the whole body for ‘something’, it is able to detect all known curses and diseases, and thus, we can diagnose a patient much quicker,” the Healer explained without taking his eyes off Althea.

 

Hermione was intrigued but also a bit anxious of what the Healer would say. If Marcus had been telling the truth, the fact that Althea had more power would probably not show up on this type of scanning. However, if he’d been lying …

 

“There,” the Healer said, interrupting her train of thought. “There are no signs of any diseases, Muggle or wizard, and no signs of any curses anywhere. Are you certain there is no way your daughter could have been abused? It doesn’t have to have been by your parents. Perhaps some neighbour or her nanny?”

 

Hermione frowned. Even if she hated lying, she didn’t want to waste the Healer’s time now that she knew there was nothing wrong with Althea.

 

“Well, there was this boy in the house next door who she played with sometimes. But every time they had played, Althea would act strangely afterwards. We never found out if he had done something, but…” Hermione hoped she’d been vague enough so he would read more into her words than she was actually saying.

 

The Healer nodded in understanding. “I do think it was something in her previous environment that caused this slow development. But I don’t have the means to find out if something is emotionally wrong with her. But you are a Muggle-born, yes? Perhaps you can try one of their therapists. I’ve heard they’re pretty good at this kind of thing, much more advanced than Wizarding Healers,” he suggested.

 

“Yes, perhaps I should,” Hermione pretended to agree. She was just happy that there was nothing wrong with Althea. Marcus was right, and she had just been paranoid. What a relief.

 

Hermione and Althea said their goodbyes to the Healer and left.

 

Once she was home again, Hermione thought about going over to Marcus’s flat right away and telling him about the meeting with the Healer, but then she decided against it. She didn't want to come across as some needy school girl. Since she had already made a fool of herself four years ago, she now wanted him to see that she was a strong, independent woman. She especially wanted him to see that she could very well take care of her own child.

 

Hence, she sat down on the couch with her daughter to practise more English. That was what she did the next day as well. Then, it was Saturday and time for her to meet Harry and Ginny again for the first time in three years. She was nervous as hell. Would they be disappointed in her for not trying to keep in contact? Angry? Uncomfortable? She had no idea what to expect or what they expected from her. She wasn't really the same old Hermione. Sure, she was still a bookworm and a know-it-all and all that, but ... she felt so much older. More tired. She knew her life wasn’t considered the most exciting. Would they look down on her for that? Feel pity that she hadn't been able to make any new friends and didn’t have as many adventures as she had had with them?

 

They would be there around tea-time, and Hermione was busy making sandwiches and putting some biscuits, plates and teacups on the table when there was a knock on the door. She dried her suddenly sweaty palms on the kitchen towel, straightened the blue, knee-length skirt she was wearing and opened the door.

 

Harry seemed to have grown several inches and had new glasses. They were more edgy which actually made him look handsome. Ginny still wore her red hair long and loose. Her freckled face was just as full of energy as Hermione remembered, but she seemed even more fit than before. That was probably because of her professional career at Quidditch.

 

As usual, Ginny broke the ice. “Hermione! I'm so happy to see you!”

 

She hugged her friend tightly, and Hermione could feel relief flooding through her body. At least they didn’t hate her.

 

“Yeah, really nice to hear from you again.” Harry beamed at her and hugged her once Ginny let go.

 

“I'm glad you wanted to come,” Hermione admitted and welcomed them into her flat. “Althea, want to come and say hi?”

 

Althea looked up from the pictures book she had at the coffee table. She hissed something, apparently having forgot that Parseltongue was supposed to be a secret. Hermione swallowed and glanced towards Harry who frowned.

 

“She doesn't speak English yet,” Hermione began carefully.

 

To her surprise, it was Ginny who recognised it. “That was Parseltongue, wasn't it?”

 

Hermione nodded and looked at Harry who blinked in surprise.

 

“Her father must be one. I only just realised that she speaks in Parseltongue. You didn't understand it, Harry?”

 

Harry shook his head slowly, looking confounded at Althea. “No, but I guess it was the Horcrux inside me that made me understand it and Voldemort killed that during the final battle. I haven't felt anything from him since then anyway. My scar hasn't hurt at all.”

 

Hermione frowned. It was nice to hear that Harry hadn’t been bothered by Voldemort since the final battle, but that also meant he had no way of knowing if Voldemort was near. Although, if Voldemort hadn’t made any noise for four years, perhaps he had lost interest in Harry?

 

“I’m glad to hear he isn’t bothering you anymore,” Hermione just said.

 

Harry nodded and then looked away from Althea and towards Hermione again. “Me too. Even though I know he is still out there, he hasn’t caused us any trouble for four years, well, that we know of. However, you should be careful not to mention Althea’s a Parselmouth to anyone here in Britain. Ever since Voldemort disappeared, people have started to loosen up, but they are still watchful about anything that could be related to him. A girl speaking Parseltongue could really create a panic—the Ministry would no doubt investigate, and I am sure you remember the kind of witch-hunt that can turn into.”

 

Hermione nodded and quickly made a list of everyone who could have heard Althea speaking Parseltongue in Britain. When she couldn’t come up with any names besides Harry, Ginny and Marcus, she relaxed. Still, she scolded at herself for not thinking about it earlier.  

 

“I wasn't planning to tell anyone. I don’t meet that many people anyway. But you are okay with it, right?”

 

“Of course!” Ginny exclaimed. Then she frowned. “But it's not a very common thing to be able to do, right? I mean, wasn't Voldemort the only one in, like, the whole of Europe who could speak it?”

 

Harry frowned again. “Yeah, what if ... the dad is ... you know ...”

 

Hermione crossed her arms and scowled at him. The thought of Marcus being Voldemort was completely ridiculous. As if Lord Voldemort would knock up a girl and let her live to tell the tale. Not to mention spending time with her afterwards? It was laughable to think the darkest wizard in over a century would take the time to help a puking girl. Marcus was way too nice and chivalrous to even have been a Death Eater.

 

“Harry, really! Do you think that if Lord Voldemort had found me the night after you’d beaten him, he wouldn’t have killed me? It doesn't really fit his M.O. to leave a girl knocked up, does it?”

 

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, working as an Auror is starting to get me paranoid. You are right. If he had found you, he would definitely have killed you and sent you as a message to me.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry. “No Auror-talk now, Harry. We are here to have a good time with Hermione. And I see cookies, so don’t ruin my appetite with talks about You-Know-Who.”

 

“Sorry, Gin,” Harry said, but he was still glancing at Althea.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Right. You are welcome to sit down. Do you want coffee or tea?”

 

“Coffee. Milk and one sugar, please,” Ginny said and sat down at the kitchen table

 

“Just tea for me,” Harry said and sat down next to Ginny.

 

Hermione poured up the coffee to Ginny, and when the other woman accepted the cup, Hermione noticed the diamond ring on her finger.

 

“Oh, right, I read about your engagement. Congratulations,” she said, trying not to let the sadness of reading it in the papers instead of hearing it from them in person shine through.

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick, troubled look as Ginny fingered her engagement ring.

 

“Thank you,” Ginny said with a smile. “We hadn't planned on telling anyone at first. We actually decided to get engaged a month ago, but we wanted to take it slow, you know. We are both so busy all the time that we hardly have time to think about life outside work. But last week, we went to look at rings together, and a reporter spotted us...” She sighed and made a grimace.

 

“We actually planned to visit you in Australia this summer and invite you to the wedding,” Harry said, looking down at the plate with biscuits standing in the middle of the table. “Although, now that you are here, it would really mean a lot to us if you are more involved in the wedding.”

 

Hermione gaped at them. This was not what she had expected at all. Was it guilt that made them ask her or was it a genuine wish?

 

“How involved?” was all she could think about asking.

 

“Bridesmaid,” Ginny said with a smile. “Luna is already the maid of honour, and Ron is the best man. Charlie, George and Bill will all be ushers. I was hoping that you and Charlie could go together.”

 

Hermione blinked several times. “I'd be honoured to.”

 

Both Harry and Ginny beamed happily at her.

 

“Great! Oh, but you'll probably have to come over to the Burrow now and again for rehearsal parties. We didn't want a big wedding, but Mum has already started planning it and we don’t have the heart to tell her to stop, even if she seems to invite everyone who wants to come. And since he is still The Boy Who Lived, it will probably be bigger than we fear.”

 

Hermione smiled at Harry’s grimace. It would appear publicity still wasn’t his thing. However, it seemed like he still tried to make other people happy, even if it meant doing something he didn’t necessarily want. Mrs Weasley was probably thrilled having such a compliant son-in-law.

 

“I think I can come over now and again. I already have to hire a nanny for Althea when I'm in class, but—”

 

“Oh, no, bring her. Mum will just love having another child in the house,” Ginny said with a grin, “and maybe it will take the pressure off me and Harry. You'd think Bill's daughter would make her content for a while, but noooo.”

 

“Right, I forgot Bill had a daughter, too,” Hermione realised. “How old is she now?”

 

“Victoire just became three, which makes her just a few months younger than Althea. So Althea will have someone to play with if you bring her. Also Fleur is pregnant again, so in a few months, there will be yet another baby to play with. And then there is Teddy as well.” Ginny's smile faded a little.

 

“They usually have him and Andromeda over for Sunday dinner at the Burrow,” Harry filled in. “But lately, Teddy hasn't really been—er—nice to have around. Molly says it's just a phase, but it has been going on for months now, and well, we don't really know how to deal with it.”

 

Hermione always suspected that Harry felt very connected to Teddy since he, too, had been orphaned at a young age. Judging by his worn, sad face, he invested quite some time with Remus and Tonks’s son. It seemed Harry would never stop trying to save others.

 

“What is wrong with him?” she asked, concerned. She hoped she wasn’t out of line asking.

 

Harry shrugged, looking defeated. “He is just so mean and rude. I baby-sit a lot, and it is tiresome to be around him. But like Molly said, it’s probably just a phase. He will get over it.”

 

Harry tried to sound hopeful, and Hermione gave him an encouraging look. She knew how hard it was when you didn't know what was wrong with your child. With concern in her heart, she looked over at Althea who was still going through her book—unaware of her mother’s worries.

 

Ginny followed her look. “She is very much like you, you know.”

 

Hermione looked back at her friend and shrugged. “I guess.”

 

“She really is,” Harry concurred, “especially with her nose stuck in a book like that. Can she read already?”

 

“No, I don't think so. I reckon she likes the pictures and makes up her own story with it. But it's hard to know when I can't speak with her.” Hermione sighed. She didn't really want to speak about her problems. “But what else is up with you? Are you working full-time as an Auror now, Harry?”

 

“Yeah,” he said with a grimace. “But it's mostly boring paperwork and lot of following up on former Death Eaters’ statements. Can you believe some of them still claim to have been placed under the Imperius? And every time someone says that, we have to investigate.”

 

Hermione giggled at his dramatic groan.

 

“But no sign of Voldemort?”

 

“None whatsoever. We think he has left the country. There has been some trouble in the U.S.A.. Dark forces there have been on the move lately, but you know the American Aurors. They are so secretive, and they barely share any information unless they have to. Last year, one of them came and interviewed me, wanting to know if something fitted Voldemort M.O.”

 

Hermione could see that something was troubling him. “You still want to hunt after him.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Doesn't matter what I want. If he is in the U.S., I can't. I don't have the jurisdiction. And he had already destroyed my childhood. I won't let him destroy my career and that will happen if I go.”

 

It surprised her that Harry had managed to make such a mature decision, but when she saw Ginny squeeze his hand and smile at him reassuringly, she guessed they had discussed this many times. Hermione was touched by how close they seemed, but also a little sad for not having someone to be so close to.

 

“And what about you, Ginny?” Hermione asked. “How is the Quidditch going?”

 

As she expected, Ginny was more than happy to tell her every last detail about the Quidditch series and her part as a Chaser. It then turned into a discussion about the other people in the Weasley family, which led to Hermione talking about her parents. Althea interrupted them a couple of times because she was bored and then hungry. When Hermione saw how late it was, she suggested that they should make dinner together. Harry surprised her when he showed her that he had become quite a good cook, even if the pasta and tuna dish he made was nothing fancy.

 

When Althea's bedtime came, Harry and Ginny finally decided it was time to leave as well. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had had such a good time and hugged them both extra long when they were at the door.

 

“I've missed you,” she said sheepishly when she finally let go of them.

 

Ginny's smile was sad. “We have missed you, too. Really. Why don't you come by tomorrow for Sunday dinner at the Burrow? Mum will love meeting Althea.”

 

Hermione hesitated. A part of her felt like it was too soon. Another part of her wanted to stay in this moment with her friends. It was just like old times. She hadn't realised how lonely she was until just now.

 

“That would be fun,” she accepted. “What time should I be there?”

 

“We eat at two, but you can come earlier if you'd like?” Ginny asked and pushed open the door behind her.

 

Hermione followed them both out and stood at the threshold. “Excellent. Althea could use some good food for a change.”

 

Harry snorted. “I'm sure you aren't that bad a cook, Hermione.”

 

“Oh, but I am,” she exclaimed with a sigh and caught sight of Marcus coming up the stairs. She felt her heart make a small loop. Fine, he was a very handsome man, even if he was boring at times. And he was Althea’s father and always very polite. Perhaps she did feel a tiny bit attracted to him.

 

Both Harry and Ginny heard the steps and looked around right when Marcus came up to them. He gave them a curious smile.

 

“Hi, Marcus,” Hermione greeted him, not feeling as embarrassed to see him when she was having her friends around to chaperon. “These are my friends, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter!”

 

Marcus eyed them both and shook hands. “Good evening.”

 

“Marcus will be my professor this fall,” Hermione explained.

 

Ginny gave her a “where do I sign up for class?” look, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Marcus Foster?” Harry asked in surprise.

 

“Heard about me, Mr Potter?” Marcus asked, mildly surprised.

 

“Of course! Your spell on how to uncover human transfigurations made by potions is one of the best things that has ever happened to us Aurors,” Harry replied enthusiastically, “especially to our budget since we don't have to have expensive antidotes lying around anymore.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” Marcus said with a chuckle. “I've always felt that we blessed with a higher intellect should use that to contribute to the society. Wouldn't you agree, Hermione?”

 

Hermione blushed at the compliment. “Of course.”

 

He smiled at her before turning his attention back to Hermione’s guests. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Potter, Ms Weasley.”

 

“Likewise,” Harry said, while Ginny smiled.

 

Marcus nodded at them, walked to his own flat and disappeared inside.

 

“Oh Merlin's beard, Hermione,” Ginny whispered, excited. “That's your teacher? Yummy!”

 

Hermione smiled and nodded. “He is very nice—friendly.”

 

Ginny sighed dreamily, and Harry elbowed her lightly.

 

“Ey! Do I have to fight for you now as well?”

 

Ginny giggled. “Perhaps.” She gave him a quick kiss and then turned to hug Hermione again. “We'll see you tomorrow then.”

 

Hermione agreed. After getting one last hug from Harry, her guests left. She went back inside, cleaned up after the dinner, and then spent a few hours reading before it was time to sleep. But she couldn't really concentrate. She was too happy and relieved that everything had gone so well. It was even better than she had expected, seeing her friends again. It was like no time had passed at all between them.

 

The relief she had felt diminished by the next morning and  was replaced by nervousness again. How would the Weasleys, especially Ron, greet her? She hadn't seen Ron in four years’ time, and their last meeting hadn't been very pleasant. At first, he had tried to deny being with Lavender. When that hadn't worked, he had given her a bunch of made-up excuses. After a while, she had just left, not wanting to continue the argument. When she had later written and told them all she was pregnant, he hadn't answered, and she hadn't bothered trying to write to him again.

 

Knowing Ron, she was sure their encounter would be forced and uncomfortable. All she could do was hope he wouldn’t make a scene at least.

 

At half past one, she took her excited daughter in her arms and Apparated them to the Burrow. Just like last time they had travelled far, Althea began to scream. Hermione looked down at the girl. Perhaps she didn't like to travel like this? Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember Apparating or using a Portkey with Althea before moving back to England. She had never taken Althea with her to school and had used her parents’ car if she had to take Althea somewhere.

 

She tried to shush and comfort her daughter. This was not the way she wanted to see the Weasleys again. She knocked on the back door, dreading the worst.

 

Ginny opened the door and stared in surprise at the crying Althea.

 

“What's wrong?” she asked, concerned, as she gestured them inside the kitchen.

 

“I don't think Althea is very fond of Apparition,” Hermione remarked and looked around nervously.

 

Molly Weasley, who was setting the table, sighed. “Oh, Bill and Percy were just like that, too. Have you tried a small calming spell? If it is the dizziness and the nausea from Apparating that makes her sad, it will make her feel better almost immediately.”

 

Hermione shook her head, scowling mentally at herself for not thinking about that before. She withdrew her wand and cast the spell over her daughter, and the screaming turned into soft sobs against her green T-shirt.

 

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley,” she said gratefully. “I’ve never really travelled with her by magic before. We’ve always used the car in Australia.”

 

Mrs Weasley nodded in understanding and walked over to them. “Well, it's nice to see you, dear. And finally meeting the little one.”

 

“It's good to see you, too,” Hermione replied but noted that Mrs Weasley looked a little uncomfortable. “I'm sorry I haven't been by earlier.”

 

“Not at all, dear, not at all. Ginny told us that you have been busy with school and all. But it's nice to have you back in England again. And Oxford at that! Your parents must be proud.” It didn't sound as genuine as Hermione might have wished for, but she played along.

 

“Yes, they are. It was lucky I got the scholarship though. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to afford it.”

 

Mrs Weasley nodded in understanding. “Yes, Percy wanted to go there, but, oh, well. It's nice that you are here. Please, go to the living room and meet the others. Ginny and I just have some last preparations to make.”

 

“Anything I can help with?” Hermione asked, noticing that Mrs Weasley did appear a bit stressed.

 

“Aren’t you a dear. But no, we have everything under control. Go ahead. The others are so much looking forward to seeing you again.”

 

Right then, a pot on the stove began to whistle, and Mrs Weasley hurried to it. Hermione decided it would be for the best to leave them at it.

 

As she and Althea walked farther into the house, Hermione felt her stomach’s flutter of nervousness. She took a deep breath before walking into the room.

 

The cosy living room was filled to the brink with various objects. The two brown couches and the two armchairs were occupied by family members. Harry was the first to see her. He rose quickly and went over to hug her. That made the others look up as well.

 

“Hermione, welcome,” Mr Weasley said as he stood and gave her a somewhat hesitant hug before crouching down next to Althea. “And this must be Althea. Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

He ruffled her hair in a way Althea didn’t seem to enjoy. The girl moved closer to Hermione’s leg and took a hold of the fabric of Hermione’s jeans as she looked around the room suspiciously.

 

“It’s nice to be here again,” Hermione said as Mr Weasley rose again. “Hello, everybody!” She waved at everyone else in the room.

 

George, who she still wasn't used seeing without his now dead twin-brother Fred, was sitting with Angelina Johnson, holding hands. They both smiled at her.

 

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” George asked, looking from her to Althea

 

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, not only are you being this super-clever witch, you are also this super-Mum, raising a child on her own and all that.”

 

Hermione forced a smile. She knew he was just trying to be nice and make her feel welcome. However, since she didn’t feel like a super-Mum at all, she felt like the expectations were just higher than she could ever manage.

 

Thankfully, she was saved by Percy who invited her to come and sit next to him. Taking Althea’s hand, she led the girl to the other side of the room. She was glad to see that Percy seemed to have been assimilated into the family again. Last time she saw him, he had asked for forgiveness from the rest of the Weasleys for shutting them out for three years.

 

“Hello, Hermione,” Percy said in the same serious tone he usually had. “How is Oxford treating you?”

 

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said while looking at the last person in the room, Ron.

 

He just stared at her, and when she gave him a tentative smile, he looked away. She sighed. Still uncomfortable. She didn't want to deal with that right now. Instead, she turned her attention back to Percy and continued talking about her studies and asking him about the Ministry. Fifteen minutes after her arrival, Bill and Fleur showed up with their daughter who was just thrilled to see another girl there.

 

Victoire came over to them and stopped in front of the chair where Althea was sitting.

 

“Hi,” the other girl said. She had the same white-blond hair as her mother and her father’s deep blue eyes.

 

Althea, however, seemed to have become shy. Probably because there were so many new faces around. She moved backwards in the chair and grabbed a hold of Hermione’s shirt.

 

Victoire looked a little confused, but thankfully, the last guest appeared right then: Mrs Tonks and Teddy. Victoire ran over to greet them instead.

 

Knowing that the boy was a Metamorphmagus, Hermione didn't arch her eyebrows at the boy's blue hair. Althea, however, looked interested.The five-year-old looked around sourly, and when he spotted Althea and Hermione, he stuck out his tongue at them before running into the kitchen again. Hermione was quite baffled, but since Harry had told her about him yesterday, she didn’t comment on it. Not when Althea didn’t seem bothered by it, anyway.

 

“Now that everyone is here, we can eat,” Mrs Weasley declared happily.

 

Hermione followed the rest to the dinner table and sat down with Althea between Harry and Percy. Ron was thankfully at the other end of the table; she couldn't have spoken to him even if she knew what to say.

 

Even though she had always found Percy a bit of a patronising, overly ambitious know-it-all, he was nice to talk to. He was up-to-date with most of the latest research in Transfiguration, and they had quite a bit to talk about. To her great surprise, he had even read her thesis and agreed with her in her conclusions.

 

After dinner, almost everyone went back to the living room again. Hermione helped Mrs Weasley and Mrs Tonks wash up while keeping an eye on Althea, who was sitting at the dinner table with Victoire and Teddy. Victoire was quite the talker, and Hermione was quite thankful not to be questioned about her daughter's unusual silence. She guessed Harry and Ginny had already told them she didn’t want to talk about it.

 

However, the moment she turned her back and took her eyes off them, there was a loud thump and Teddy let out a cry.

 

The three women turned at once and found Teddy lying on the floor.

 

“What happened?” Mrs Tonks asked, rushing over to see if Teddy was alright.

 

“She knocked me off the chair!” Teddy wailed and pointed at Althea. “My arm hurts! She hurt my arm!”

 

“She did magic!” Victoire said, amazed.

 

“Althea,” Hermione reprimanded. “You shouldn't use magic to hurt people.”

 

Althea hissed something long which Hermione couldn't understand, but her body language told Hermione she was angry. Hermione lifted her daughter up.

 

“I'm so sorry,” she said, turning towards Mrs Weasley and Mrs Tonks. “Althea doesn't quite know how to control her magic.”

 

The older women just stared at her, and she blushed.

 

“Of course she doesn’t know how to control it, she’s only three,” Mrs Weasley said.

 

“It isn't very normal for such a young child to know magic at all,” Mrs Tonks commented after a moment. “Does she use it often?”

 

“Not really, but she can.” Hermione looked down at the floor, embarrassed that Althea had fought with Teddy. The young boy was still yelling at the top of his lungs, vying for attention. “Perhaps it would be best if we left.”

 

“Nonsense,” came Mrs Weasley's reply, which surprised Hermione greatly, as Mrs Tonks tried to calm Teddy down. “Children do that sort of things if they are stressed. Why don't you just take her outside for a little while to let her calm down? We still have coffee to serve in a little while.”

 

Grateful that they didn't want to kick her out, Hermione went outside. It was quite nice outside. Warm, but a bit windy. The sun was still high in the sky, and Hermione went to sit with Althea in the shadow at the side of the house.

 

“I wish you could tell me what happened,” Hermione mumbled to her daughter and placed her on the bench next to her.

 

Althea hissed something and then looked away from her, pouting. Hermione had the nagging feeling she had said something about wishing Hermione could understand her instead.

 

“Fine, the only thing I want to know is if you wanted to hurt Teddy?” Hermione asked.

 

Althea shook her head.

 

“Did he start it?” After what Harry had told her about the boy, she wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

 

Althea nodded, and her face turned sour again.

 

Hermione stroked her daughter’s hair. “Well, the next time, you can just come to me if he is being mean, okay?”

 

Althea nodded. After a small hesitation, the girl leaned closer and hugged Hermione’s waist. Hermione smiled and hugged Althea back, feeling like they were finally getting somewhere in their mother-daughter relationship.

 

They had been outside for maybe five minutes when she heard footsteps. Next, Ron came around the corner.

 

“Er, hi,” he said, looking everywhere but at her.

 

“Hi, Ron,” she replied cautiously.

 

“So, long time no see.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Silence.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act around him. If he wanted to apologise for his behaviour, then she would be happy to accept it. However, if he was about to start arguing with her, she would just stand up and leave. It was up to him.

 

“How have you been?” he asked, still not really looking at her.

 

“Good. Had Althea, finished a bachelor. You?” What did you answer to such a question when you hadn’t seen the person for four years?

 

“Good, good. Started working with George.”

 

“I see. Do you enjoy it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

More silence.

 

Hermione felt a bit aggravated. Was that all he had to say? Although, maybe it was too much to expect him to come with some sort of apology. He had always been too stubborn to admit he was wrong when they were still at Hogwarts, and she got the feeling that hadn’t changed. Perhaps she should just let it be and try to renew their relationship? After all, he could be a very good friend when he wanted to. And it would really help if they were talking to each other since she was going to be involved in Harry and Ginny’s wedding.

 

“Ron, this is ridiculous,” she finally said. “We were friends for seven years. Surely all that can't all be thrown away over some silly, little fight?”

 

He finally looked at her and smiled uneasily. “Yeah, seems a bit silly now, doesn't it?”

 

She smiled back and nodded. “So, friends?”

 

“Yeah.” He reached out to shake her hand, and she accepted it.

 

“So, this is Althea?” he asked after they let go, and he sat down on his knees next to the bench.

 

“Yes, it is,” Hermione said and stroked her daughter's hair.

 

“She got your eyes,” Ron noted.

 

“People say that.”

 

Even after they made peace, it was still uncomfortable between them.

 

“What's she like?”

 

“Oh, you know, like a typical three-and-a-half-year-old,” Hermione replied with a shrug.

 

“Still no idea who the father is?”

 

Hermione tensed, and to be safe, she just shook her head.

 

“Well, I'm sure that if anyone can be a good single Mum, it's you.”

 

She was sure that he complimented her to make up for his behaviour, but she didn't feel any better due to it. In fact, she felt rather uneasy. She didn't feel like a good mother at all.

 

“Thanks,” she said barely audible because of her discomfort.

 

After another awkward moment of silence, Ron said, “Uhm, I'm sure Mum has the coffee ready by now. Shall we go in?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” She stood and helped Ron up. Then, she took Althea's hand and led her into the house again, relieved that the visit was going much better than she had anticipated.

 

And all was well.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge amounts of cookies and hugs to my betas: Nerys and Serpent-In-Red.

**Chapter 6**  
  
Voldemort lay in the bathtub feeling as content and relaxed as one usually felt after a satisfying orgasm. Of course he was denying that Granger had been in his mind while he’d achieved said orgasm. That would take away the nice and relaxed feeling he was having.  
  
Instead, he focused on all the things in his life that made him happy at the moment. On the top of the list was the fact that not even the “great” Harry Potter had recognised him in this disguise. In fact, the boy had been glad to see him and amazed about his work. Voldemort had only given them that spell because he wanted them to punish his Death Eaters for betraying him, and he knew a lot of the Death Eaters would use potions to hide.  
  
Potter was always a sty in his eye. For such a mediocre wizard, he continuously seemed to find some miraculous way to excel. Now, however, Voldemort thought he knew why. It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to realise that the boy carried one of his Horcruxes. That was what had given Potter his special powers, Voldemort himself. These days, the boy was just like any other wizard, having to survive without any help from a part of Voldemort’s soul. His soul was safely inside his own body again. Of course, he would always be a little extra careful where Potter was concerned, but at last, he knew who was the greater wizard, and that gave him peace of mind.  
  
After staring at the ceiling for quite some time, the water started to get chilly. He got up, washed off and stepped out from the bathtub. He stopped in front of the sink to brush his teeth for the night and caught eye of himself in the mirror.  
  
Even after four years, it still surprised him to see himself like this. He was handsome, of course, but not in the way he was used to. The thick, dark-brown hair had to be kept short if he didn’t want it to get curly, and his eyes were a bit too bright for his taste. Although, he could pull off the best innocent face with them, and that was always good. The best part, however, was this new body. He was just as tall as he had been before, but his shoulders were broader than they had ever been. It was laughably easy to get people to listen to you when you looked like this. This was especially true with heterosexual witches, who were more than happy to grant him small favours now and again. Not that he would actually grant them the privilege of having intercourse with him, oh no. However, a little flirtation got you just as far as a few well-aimed Crucios could, even though it was not as funny. But he didn’t have time to actually have sex. There were more important things in the world, like founding a new power base.  
  
Nevertheless, ever since Granger entered his life again, Voldemort found it a bit more trying to control his … physical urges. This morning, he had finally given in to it by masturbating. He was perfectly sure it would continue to keep his mind clear when he was in Granger’s company.  
  
The next couple of days went by quickly. He had papers to correct from the students who were coming back in the fall. He liked doing it, since it gave him such a brilliant insight into how the students were thinking. That was how he made the selections about whom to invite to his “study-group” and also how they could be of the best use to him. However, it took a longer time than correcting necessarily did, so he made sure to do it when he wouldn’t get disturbed.  
  
On the last day of July, he considered going to see Granger again, but before he had the time, there was a sudden knock on his door. Opening it, he wasn’t all that surprised to see her standing at his doorstep.  
  
She smiled shyly. “Hi, er, I was just wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner?”  
  
He regarded her for a moment. “Have you learned how to cook?”  
  
She blushed, but her eyes narrowed angrily. “Fine, you don’t have to. Forget it.”  
  
She spun around and was about to storm back to her flat when he grabbed her arm.  
  
“I’ll cook, then,” he just said and locked the door behind him.  
  
She seemed a bit annoyed with his attitude. However, when he winked at her, she just rolled her eyes at his arrogance and followed him back to her flat. Althea smiled brightly when he entered. She ran up to him and grabbed the fabric of his trousers.  
  
“ _Where have you been? I have no one to talk to,_ _and Mum doesn’t understand,_ _and that is boring!”_  
  
He chuckled and stroked her hair. “ _Well, I’m here now. What is it you have wanted to talk about?”_  
  
She frowned and let go of his trousers. Then, she shrugged.   
  
He smiled at her. “ _I’ll be here for a little while, so if you think of anything you want to talk about, just tell me._ ”  
  
Althea nodded, apparently feeling it was a fair arrangement, and she walked back to where she had been sitting on the floor, drawing pictures.  
  
“What did she say?” Granger asked.  
  
“Just wanted to tell me that she thinks it’s boring that you can’t understand her. But she didn’t know what she’d wanted to talk about when I asked.”  
  
Granger huffed and showed him what she had planned to make for dinner. Voldemort actually didn’t mind cooking. It was empowering to prepare oneself’s food. During his whole childhood and until he finished Hogwarts, he had to rely on someone else making his food for him. At Hogwarts, he hadn’t feared to be poisoned as much as he had at the orphanage, but there was always that nagging suspicion in the back of his head wherever he went. Thankfully, there was always a way to check food for poisons, but he still felt better when he actually made it all from scratch. Then he could feel perfectly safe.  
  
About thirty minutes later, the salmon was ready, and they sat down to eat. Granger cut up the food into smaller pieces for Althea before she started with her own dish. He had never thought about helping the girl first. Then again, it was no secret he was a selfish bastard.   
  
Oh, right, it was.   
  
So, perhaps he should remember that next time.  
  
Althea, it appeared, was more tired than hungry. After Granger managed to get her to eat half her dish, she took Althea to bed.  
  
“She woke up at five this morning and didn’t want to take her nap,” Granger explained when she came back.  
  
“She seems to be a very energetic child,” Voldemort noted.  
  
“She is, but she likes to keep to herself a lot. I don’t know what she is playing when she is alone in the bedroom, but as long as she is happy …” she trailed off with a shrug.  
  
“She does seem happy most of the time. Was it because you wished to talk about her that you invited me over?” he asked, putting the last of the fish in his mouth.  
  
“No, not really,” she replied hesitantly.  
  
He arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his water.  
  
She sighed. “I didn’t invite you over to talk about something special. I just wanted to see if we could do this. I mean, you said you wouldn’t leave. Since you haven’t packed your bags and disappeared yet, I guess I start to believe you. So I just wanted to see … what will happen now.”  
  
“What do you want to happen now?” he asked curiously.  
  
She slowly moved her fork around on her plate. “I’m not sure. I guess it would be good if we could establish some sort of friendship for Althea’s sake.” She grimaced. “That sounded wrong. I didn’t mean I don’t want to be friends otherwise. I just …”  
  
He chuckled. “I understand. And I guess you are right. It would be good to be friends. But I still must stress that we shouldn’t act like more than friendly neighbours for the other professors.”  
  
“Yes, I know. I didn’t mean we should go out and party together.” She put some food in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “But I actually don’t know what we should do. So I just wanted to test this way of spending time. I mean, I guess you are past the age of just ‘hanging out’.”  
  
Again, he chuckled. “That depends on what the ‘hanging out’ refers to.”  
  
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess this can qualify as just hanging out. Although, I meant … doing something that isn’t dinner.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
Now she grimaced. “I don’t know. I’m not a ‘hanging out’ kind of girl. I don’t know what people usually do together at this age. Maybe all they do is just sit, eat and talk.”  
  
“I can’t say I’m an expert either,” he said, amused. “I spend most of my time alone, researching. Unless I’m lecturing or doing something else related to my university work. My life isn’t the most exciting.”  
  
“It sounds very nice, though,” she replied honestly. “That’s what I would like to do, too: researching and maybe lecturing. Although, it is nice to sometimes meet friends and talk about something completely different.”  
  
“And then, you have Althea as well,” he reminded her.  
  
She got a pained expression in her eyes. “I do.”  
  
“But?”  
  
She just shook her head.  
  
“Does it disturb you … to have a daughter?”  
  
“No!” The answer seemed to be one of those answers you just knew you had to say because everything else would be bad.   
  
Voldemort sighed as he reached out and took her hand. “It doesn’t make you a horrible person if it did, Hermione.”  
  
“Yes, it does,” she answered forcefully. “I just … I just need to find a way to talk to her. Then we will connect. I just need time.”  
  
Voldemort stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, trying not to enjoy the feeling it gave him. Granger shuddered slightly, showing him she felt it, too.  
  
“Have you got any idea what this is?” she wondered in a low voice.  
  
“No,” he lied.  
  
“And you haven’t felt it with anyone else?”  
  
He shook his head, this time truthfully. He hadn’t felt anything close to this for anyone else, ever.  
  
“Have you?” He didn’t know why he asked. For some reason, he wanted her to say no.  
  
“No. I always thought that it was how you felt for someone you … well, I haven’t. I didn’t even want to date anyone until I felt the same feeling again. But I never did. Not that I had so many men to try it on. I mean, boys my age get rather turned off when they hear I have a daughter.”  
  
Her honesty always surprised him. So much that he first thought she was lying. Why would anyone be so honest to a stranger? But he didn’t sense her lying and he knew she wasn’t good enough at Occlumency to hide it if she were lying. However, it felt unsettling to know that she wasn’t lying because he had no idea what motive she had for telling him the truth. Hence, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.  
  
“I can’t relate,” he finally mumbled.  
  
She withdrew her hand. “No, of course not.”  
  
The silence around them was tense. He could see that there was more that she wanted to ask but was reluctant to do. It annoyed him. Why did she stop being honest all of a sudden?  
  
When the silence was going on for almost two nerve-wracking minutes, he finally asked: “What are you thinking about?”  
  
She shrugged.  
  
“Please, Hermione, just tell me. I can’t relate to what you were and are going through, and I won’t even have a chance to understand unless you tell me what is upsetting you.”  
  
“I’m not sure,” she said, biting her lip and looking down on the table. “There are a lot of things. I don’t want them to upset me.”  
  
“But clearly they do,” he remarked. “Tell me one of those many things then.”  
  
Her face turned red. “I … I know you didn’t force yourself on me. But it’s upsetting not knowing what it was like. The act. All I know is that it wasn’t nice waking up after it. There wasn’t any blood or anything like that, but it … ached. And I … Did I enjoy it at all or …?” She sent him a shy and embarrassed look and then quickly looked down again.  
  
“Is that why you haven’t had sex again?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
She shrugged, but her head tilted forward and he got the feeling that it was part of the truth.  
  
“You enjoyed it,” he mumbled, feeling some of his blood rushing down to his groin at the memory of that night. “At least, you acted like you enjoyed it, but I think you were too drunk to be able to lie if you didn’t like it. I didn’t know you were a virgin and so I wasn’t very gentle, but you didn’t seem to mind …” He tried to will his eager cock down. “I didn’t last very long though, and when I was done, I saw that you had passed out.”  
  
She licked her lips nervously and looked at him with big eyes. “What did I enjoy?”  
  
Was the little chit trying to seduce him? Was she aware how well it was working? He didn’t like it when he was about to lose control over a situation. Hence, he did what he always did when he started to feel a loss of control: He got ready to attack.  
  
Granger looked worried when he got up from his chair and dragged her up as well.  
  
“You liked this,” he whispered as he grabbed her hair and yanked it back hard so he could access her neck. She had really liked it when he’d kissed her neck.  
  
She did now as well. His lips had barely reached her hot skin when she started to mew in pleasure. He had to bit back a moan of his own when he tasted her again for the first time in four years. Her skin was divine. He licked, nibbled and kissed the sensitive skin of her neck, moving down to her shoulder and then up to her ear again.  
  
“You also liked this,” he whispered into her ear, and then, sucked her earlobe as he put his hand under her skirt and started to knead her arse and upper part of her thighs.   
  
She cried out, and he let all caution fly. He needed to feel her cunt. The fabric covering it was dripping wet. He just pushed it aside and entered a finger into her hot tunnel. She breathed heavily, and her arms wrapped around him, pressing him hard against her.  
  
“And you really liked this,” he growled as he let his thumb flicker over her clit.  
  
He didn’t remember making any woman come as fast as Granger did right then. As the orgasm washed over her, he lifted her up on the kitchen table and ripped off her knickers. He wanted her now. And Lord Voldemort always took what he wanted.  
  
Before she had time to come to her senses, he pulled out his cock and entered her. His thumb continued to massage her clit as he pushed in and out of her hard. Salazar, he had missed this. It was more than just the glorious feeling of having your cock stuck into a hot, wet, tight cunt. It sent pleasure throughout his whole body, making it sing with power. He could see everything more clearly. His magic danced all around them, intervening with hers before taking over, washing over her in the same speed as he was hammering his cock into her. He had never been in so much control over another human being before. He could make her feel anything he wanted her to. The glorious feeling of power together with the physical delight made him almost delirious.   
  
She screamed out in pleasure as he manipulated every nerve in her body. It made her even tighter and hotter. The lamps all around them exploded as their body temperature shot up like a fever spike. And so he came, spilling his seed inside her.  
  
His legs shook when he came down from his high. His cloths were sticking to his body in the most unpleasant way, but it didn’t bother him much. He could still feel his body tingling with power as his magic withdrew from her body.  
  
Her body …  
  
She looked just as sweaty as he felt. Her face was flushed red, and her hair lay damp over her head. She was still breathing heavily, but she was smiling and her eyes were closed. She looked … beautiful.  
  
He took a deep breath and inhaled smoke. Smoke?   
  
Standing up straight, he saw a small fire on her couch, right next to where the floor lamp stood. He quickly withdrew his wand from his pocket and put it out. Then, he noticed that her stove reeked, and he put a cooling charm over it as well. Ah, it seemed like there was a small side effect to having sex like that. He was sure he could work around it next time.  
  
Yes, he wanted there to be a next time. He enjoyed controlling her like that too much to give it up. Now he just had to make Hermione see it the same way.  
  
He reached out his hand to bring her back to him in a gentle way when a high-pitched scream reached his ears.  
  
“MUMMY!”

 

xxx

  
Althea had been tired when her mother put her to bed, but after a little while, she woke up because of noises in the kitchen. It sounded like her mother and Marcus were playing. That was unfair. She wanted to play, too.  
  
Just as she thought that, the black shadow creature she had been playing with now and again for the past week showed up. Althea smiled. They played around for a while when the night lamp next to her bed exploded.  
  
Althea got scared. “ _What happened?_ ” she asked the black creature.  
  
“ _Nothing good._ ” The creature sounded a bit angry. “ _But you can make it right again.”_  
  
“ _Okay_ ,” Althea said, not liking the way the other side of her bed was feeling. It was all warm and smelled wrong.  
  
“ _See the fire? Just tell it how scared you are,_ _and then,_ _it may go away._ ”  
  
Althea looked into the small fire and told it how scared she was. But that only seemed to make the fire grow, which made her more scared. The shadow creature tried to tell her to relax, but Althea couldn’t. The more scared she got, the bigger the fire got. In the end, she only knew one thing. She wanted her mother. So, she yelled in perfect English for the first time of her life.  
  
“MUMMY!”   
  


xxx

  
Hermione’s eyes flew open. Althea!  
  
Not even taking her time to ask Marcus to move, she shoved him aside and rushed to the bedroom. The first thing she saw was the fire on her daughter’s bed; the second thing was her screaming daughter.  
  
Mother instincts she hadn’t thought she possessed kicked in with a vengeance. Forgetting everything about being a witch and only snatching a blanket from the bed, she moved to the side where the flames were the lowest. Quickly throwing the blanket over Althea and not caring about her own safety, she grabbed her child through the flames before moving her away from the bed.  
  
“Althea, are you alright? Are you hurt? Althea?” Hermione asked, removing the blanket and looking her daughter over, completely ignoring that she herself might be hurt. When she found that Althea had no burn marks, she pressed her daughter tightly against her chest, sobbing in relief.  
  
“Salazar.”   
  
She heard a hiss behind her, and the fire was put out in the room. She could feel her arms stinging. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realised that she must have burned her arms, even though the flames hadn’t been that high. However, that wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was that her child was still alive and well. She mumbled soothingly to Althea as the girl sobbed against her chest.  
  
“Oh, Hermione.” Marcus came up next to her and grimaced at the look of her arms. “Do you have any anti-burning cream or shall I take you to St. Mungo’s?”  
  
“Bathroom,” she mumbled.   
  
The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her feeling tired and shaky. Her arms were also starting to throb more and more.  
  
She sank down on her own bed, stroking Althea’s back slowly as the child started to calm down. She had called her “Mummy”, Hermione suddenly realised. And more importantly, Hermione had reacted instinctively. She was a mother. She really was.  
  
When Marcus came back from the bathroom, he made his presence known by sinking down on the bed next to her and removing her shirt with a spell. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, but he didn’t notice. Instead, he focused on her burns as he smeared a healing cream on her left arm. She shuddered at the coldness but didn’t say anything. The magical cream worked instantly as it always did when it was just a normal burn. If it were a magical one, the cream wouldn’t do the trick on its own.  
  
“The other arm,” he ordered, and she moved around so he could apply the cream there as well. “Did Althea get burned?”  
  
Hermione reluctantly moved the girl away from her chest and looked at her more closely one more time. No, she didn’t appear to be wounded, just scared. Fortunately. She pressed Althea back against her and looked over her head to Marcus.   
  
“You should leave,” she told him coldly.  
  
“Why?” he asked, sounding very surprised.  
  
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “If you hadn’t—” she made a gesture between them with her free arm “—this wouldn’t have happened!”  
  
His eyes narrowed as well. “You asked what you liked. I merely thought a demonstration would be the best way of showing you.”  
  
Althea begun to cry again because of their raised voices. Hermione tried to calm her daughter down again, even though her anger at the man increased.  
  
“That wasn’t the only thing you did!” she spat in a lower tone of voice. “I may not know a lot about sex, but I do know that you don’t usually create fires while doing it. So whatever you did—”  
  
“I did? Oh no, Hermione. As you said, you don’t usually create fire while fucking, and it has never happened before when I’ve done it. Hence, you must be the one at fault.”  
  
She clenched her hand into a fist and aimed to hit him, but he grabbed her wrist painfully.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, his eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
She stared back at him, refusing to back down. She wasn’t sure if he had actually done something to endanger her daughter, but she knew she hadn’t and she wouldn’t listen to these accusations. Her mother instinct was a tigress, prepared to fight.  
  
He let go of her wrist and stood up. “I’ll leave now. But we will talk about this when you have calmed down. I also suggest that you drink a contraceptive potion within the next forty-eight hours unless you want Althea to have a little brother or sister.”  
  
With a last angry look at her, he stalked out of the room, and Hermione felt like she could finally let out an angry huff. Infuriating man! How could he be so … infuriating? She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Althea shouldn’t have to see her this angry. She shouldn’t have to see them argue at all. No child should.  
  
Speaking of children, her hand moved down to her stomach. Technically, she knew she wasn’t pregnant yet, and there was only a little chance she would get pregnant since her period had ended just two days ago. But you never knew, and she didn’t want to get another child with Marcus. No matter how much she now realised that she loved her daughter.  
  
Love.  
  
Her mood shifted. If she had been the religious type, she would no doubt have thanked the gods for finally allowing her to realise what she felt for her daughter. It wasn’t a new feeling. She had had it in her heart all the time. She had just been too scared to fail as a mother to admit that she was one. However, upon seeing her daughter in the flames, she had known she wouldn’t want to live her life without her.  
  
After a while, Althea fell asleep in her arms, and Hermione carefully laid her down in the bed next to her. She needed a shower, badly. After making sure the cream had done its work on her burns, she took the rest of her clothes off and went to the bathroom. She left the door opened so she could see her daughter all the time as she showered. She wanted to keep a constant eye on Althea now, as if it would make up for that one time that she hadn’t and things had gone horribly wrong. And that was all _his_ fault, she considered as her mind wandered over to what had happened with Marcus.  
  
Yes, she had liked it. A bit too much. Never had she thought she could feel something like that. Or that she would let him just take her like that, on the kitchen table. She had thought that the next time she would have sex, it would be more … planned. Not all that romantic nonsense with roses and candles, but at least with someone she loved and trusted. She didn’t know what she was feeling for Marcus, but it wasn’t love or trust. She had seen a part of him tonight that scared her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly, but she no longer felt like she could trust him, especially not around her daughter.  
  
No, she would just have to stay away from him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Serpent In Red and Nerys for betaing this chapter!

**Chapter 7**  
  
Avoiding Marcus became tougher than she had anticipated. The very next day, he came knocking, but she pretended that she wasn’t home. The day after that, she decided to actually be out if he came knocking. Besides, it was about time for her to reconnect with London and show Althea the city. Hermione made sure they ate out as well, and when they came home, just in time for Althea to go to sleep, there was an owl waiting for Hermione. She was relieved to see that it was not from Marcus, demanding a meeting. Instead, the letter was from Ginny who wanted her to spend the weekend at her and Harry’s flat. Harry would be away on some Auror mission, and Ginny had decided to invite some girls over.  
  
Hermione agreed to come and spent a pleasant Saturday with Ginny, Angelina and Luna. When Hermione told them that she would be taking Transfiguration at Oxford, Luna told her that she also went there.  
  
“Alas, I don’t have Transfiguration,” Luna said with a sigh when they were all sitting together in Ginny’s small living room in their pyjamas, drinking wine. It was already past ten, and Althea was sleeping in the room next door. “But everyone knows Professor Foster. He is pretty.”  
  
Even if Luna was still a bit … eccentric and studied experimental magic at the Charm’s department, she surprised Hermione with how observant she had become.  
  
“That’s that hot Professor who lives next to you, Hermione?” Ginny asked, thrilled. “He is more than pretty. He is fucking delicious. If I weren’t about to get married ...” She fingered her engagement ring and sighed exaggeratedly.  
  
Though, Hermione was sure she wouldn’t give up Harry for anything.  
  
“That’s unfair,” Angelina giggled. “I have no idea whom you are talking about! What kind of deliciousness?”  
  
“Firm arse,” Ginny said after a moment’s thought. “And that great hair will always look sexy no matter what you do with it.”  
  
“He is supposed to be cleverer than most of the Professors as well,” Luna added, her voice still having that dreamy lilt it had always had, “even Professor Hilding says so.”  
  
Hilding, Hermione learned, was Luna’s favourite teacher and apparently worth to quote just as often as Luna’s father’s newspaper. Then, she noticed that Ginny and Angelina were watching her expectantly.  
  
“Er, yeah, he is good-looking,” she said weakly and mentally cursed as she felt the blush creeping up over her cheeks.  
  
Ginny tilted her head and gave Hermione a wicked smile. “Oh, have you and Mr ‘Good-Looking’ Neighbour happened to run into each other some more over these past few weeks?”  
  
Hermione continued to curse her embarrassment when she felt the blush increase. She had to come up with something. Something innocent. “Well, actually we did … quite literally. I had bought some food and was carrying too much, and I stumbled over the last step of the stairs just as he came, and he caught me. He smells really nice …” she trailed off, leaving the rest to their imagination.  
  
Thankfully, that seemed to sate the others. Ginny giggled, and Angelina whistled softly. Luna just smiled and seemed to drift away into her own thoughts. Thankfully, the conversation moved to just sexy people in general after that. Although, Hermione could probably have lived a long, happy life without ever knowing that Harry was ticklish on the inside of his thighs or that Luna liked to put a collar on her girlfriend.  
  
The next day was a beautiful Sunday, and Hermione decided to follow Ginny out shopping. Althea was asleep when she Apparated them home at nine in the evening. Therefore, Althea didn’t let out the usual screams, for which Hermione was thankful. She didn’t want Marcus knowing they were—  
  
“Hermione.”  
  
Damn.  
  
She spun around and saw him sitting on her couch, arms crossed. Her eyes narrowed in anger for his trespassing. Even though she knew it was cowardly of her to hide from him, that didn’t make it right for him to just break into her flat. Although, she admitted that it wasn’t completely strange he had resorted to this. Nevertheless, she would not let him think that she was okay with this. But first, she needed to put Althea to bed. She didn’t want her daughter hearing another argument between them. She nodded to the sleeping Althea with her head, showing Marcus what she intended to do before walking into the bedroom. After placing Althea in her bed, she placed a spell over the room so Althea wouldn’t be disturbed. Then, Hermione faced him, letting her anger wash over her.  
  
“What the hell are you doing here?” she growled.  
  
“You were never home, so I decided to stay here until you were,” he replied grimly, “because we need to talk.”  
  
“No, we don’t,” she replied harshly. “If it weren’t for the fact that we slept together four years ago, what resulted into a child, you would never have noticed me more than you notice any of your other students. And that is how it should be. What we did two weeks ago was a mistake. We can’t do that; you will be my teacher for crying out loud!”  
  
His eyes narrowed, but his voice was calm. “But we did do that. Now we have to deal with it. I thought you were mature enough to recognise that.”  
  
She wanted to continue to yell at him but realised that would only make her seem more immature, and it annoyed her.  
  
“Fine,” she muttered and sat down on the armchair opposite from him.  
  
He uncrossed his arms and let his hands sink down on his lap. “Why have you been avoiding me?”  
  
“Because what we did hurt my daughter. I won’t let that happen again, and if we don’t see each other, that won’t happen.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I don’t think it’s entirely our fault at all. Yes, there was a magical outbreak during our intercourse. When you were off in orgasm-land, I put out two small fires. But they were nothing like the one around Althea’s bed. And it doesn’t make sense that the fire managed to get that big just because of a lamp exploding.”  
  
“Then what…?”  
  
“Althea. Somehow she must have connected to the fire, and the more scared she got, the bigger the fire grew. We have to work out a plan to teach her how to control her magic.”  
  
She took a couple of deep breaths to control her anger so she wouldn’t do anything she would regret later. But it was hard. Not only was he saying that Althea was the one to blame for the fire, he also hinted that she couldn’t teach her daughter by herself. Nevertheless, she was an adult and she would be able to look at this rationally.  
  
“I’m glad you came to me with your concerns, and I’ll look into it as soon as I can,” she replied sternly, just barely managing to control her fury.  
  
“For crying out loud, Hermione,” he growled angrily and leaned forward. “She is my daughter, too.”  
  
She looked at him with an uncomfortable feeling in her gut. He seemed earnest in his claim over Althea, and alas, he was right. Althea was his daughter, too. She didn’t want to deny Althea her father, and she had no right keeping her from Marcus. If Marcus did decide to come out in public as her father, he could go to court and demand to have her. That would also crush her career at Oxford more than his. She took a deep breath. Anger and hiding would not solve this. It was best to look at it from another angle.  
  
“She is your daughter. I never claimed she wasn’t. But I’m not your girlfriend, and I don’t want to have a secret relationship with a teacher.”  
  
“Ah, so there’s where the Niffler is hiding,” he remarked and leaned back again, the anger in his eyes fading. “You didn’t like having sex.”  
  
“No. Yes. I mean, I didn’t want to have sex! I hadn’t planned and—”  
  
He sighed and pinched the area between his eyes. “Good sex isn’t planned, Hermione. I hadn’t planned for it to happen either. You asked and … I showed. I didn’t plan to have sex with you until I was already inside of you.”  
  
She swallowed, feeling the same stirring of lust she had the last time they began talking about sex. But she would not give into it again. She had no idea why her body got so turned on by him when her mind didn’t, but she wouldn’t let her body rule over her like that again.  
  
“We aren’t in love.”  
  
He huffed. “Love is overrated.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “But we aren’t really anything. We don’t know each other that well, and if it weren’t for the strange reaction every time we touch, we would never have…”  
  
“No, probably not,” he answered her when she silenced. “But at the risk of sounding like a broken record, we can’t change what has happened. We do have some sort of connection, and if you would have had sex with anyone else, you would know that what we did wasn’t just sex. It was amazing sex.”  
  
“So that’s just what you want then?” she asked bitterly. “To have sex with me from time to time?”  
  
“You don’t have to jump to conclusions, Hermione. I’m very capable of telling you what I want if you’d just ask,” he growled. “No, I don’t just want to have sex with you from time to time; I want to get to know the mother of my child.”  
  
That made her feel a little guilty as if she had treated him unjustly. Why had she avoided him like that? Just because she didn’t like the way he had introduced her to sex again? It wasn’t like she had stopped him or wanted him to stop. And she didn’t have the right to keep Althea from her father. However, there was still that uncertain feeling she had got after they had had sex.  
  
“I just don’t know how this is supposed to work,” she replied carefully after a while.  
  
“Neither do I. But I believe we covered that the last time we met,” he remarked, calming down again. “However, I am able to keep my hands to myself. Our relationship can be casual and not intimate.”  
  
She sighed in relief. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about her body betraying her again.  
  
“Good.”  
  
He gave her a nod, and then, they sat in silence for a moment until he rose.  
  
“Then I think it’s time to bid you good night. Why don’t you and Althea come over for dinner tomorrow afternoon? With her there, you won’t have to be afraid of me … jumping you.”  
  
She scowled at him. “I’m not afraid.” Then, her face relaxed. “But sure, we’ll be over at … five?”  
  
“Excellent. Good night.”  
  
He Apparated away, and Hermione realised he had found a way to break through her Apparition ward that was supposed to keep everyone but her out. Insufferable man. Now she would have to look up even stronger ones.

 

xxx

  
At precisely five o’clock the next day, there was a knock on Voldemort’s door. He opened it and welcomed Hermione and Althea inside. Althea seemed happier to see him than Hermione did. The mother seemed tense. He decided to pretend like nothing was amiss.  
  
“Please, come in. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes’ time. What would you like to drink?”  
  
“Water is fine. For both of us,” Hermione said, almost looking like she was challenging him to say that Althea could have something else.  
  
“Do you want some lemon in it or ice?” Voldemort just asked.  
  
“Lemon sounds good,” Hermione answered and followed him into the room.  
  
The construction of his flat was the same as Hermione’s, but he had coloured it differently. The tapestry was brown with silver print, and the furniture was all in earthly tones of green and brown. He, too, had his seating area and bookshelves in the east corner as Hermione had. However, he had a bigger kitchen table that he used as his work desk. It was usually filled with all kinds of books, scrolls and paper, but he had dumped them all in his bedroom for the night.  
  
Althea was looking around curiously but didn’t let go of Hermione’s hand.  
  
“ _Why do grown-ups have so many books all the time? They are no fun playing with_ ,” the girl stated in Parseltongue.  
  
“ _They are our kind of toys, dear_ ,” he answered in Parseltongue and went to pour up the water for her and her mother.  
  
“ _Boring_ ,” Althea stated.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “ _Tell you what, if you eat up all your dinner, I can conjure something up for you to play with.”_  
  
“ _With magic?”_  
  
He nodded.  
  
“ _Okay!”_ Althea said happily and went up to the kitchen table, eager to get the dinner over with so she could see some magic.  
  
Hermione had watched them quietly throughout the conversation. When Althea left her to sit at the dinner table, Hermione looked at Voldemort.  
  
“What did you talk about?” she wondered.  
  
“She commented on the lack of fun toys, and I promised to conjure some up for her if she ate her dinner,” Voldemort summarised.  
  
Hermione didn’t seem perfectly pleased with it.  
  
“I don’t usually bribe my … Althea to get her to eat up everything.”  
  
At least it was progress that she wasn’t calling Althea only _her_ daughter anymore.  
  
“I wouldn’t call it bribing,” Voldemort said, explaining his position. “More a promise that this night won’t be dull for her.”  
  
It didn’t seem like Hermione could argue with that. Instead, she took a seat next to her daughter.  
  
“So, what’s for dinner? It smells lovely.”  
  
It seemed like she did have some manners. “An Indian chicken stew and rice noodles.”  
  
Hermione seemed surprised but just nodded. He fixed the last thing of the dinner, and five minutes later, they were all sitting down. He watched as Hermione poured up a modest portion to Althea.  
  
“Just so it will cool faster,” Hermione explained when she saw that he was looking.  
  
“Of course,” Voldemort answered politely.  
  
The silence between them was tense as they poured up their own portions. Voldemort could think of a number of conversation topics, but he wanted Hermione to open up first. If he appeared to be uncertain and a little shy, she would hopefully warm up to him. She didn’t seem to appreciate being swept off her feet. Well, at least not afterwards.  
  
“Oh, this is delicious,” Hermione remarked in amazement after swallowing the first mouthful.  
  
“You sound surprised,” he remarked.  
  
A small blush crept up her throat. “No, the dinner you made the other week was wonderful as well. I just …”  
  
He smiled. “Thank you. I enjoy cooking.”  
  
She took another mouthful before helping Althea slice up more of the chicken. The girl seemed more interested in the long, sticky noodles.  
  
“Eat with your mouth closed, honey,” Hermione admonished mildly to her daughter before turning back to Marcus.  
  
“Well, you do seem to be awfully good at cooking,” she complimented. “I try, but I never seem to get a hold of it even though I follow the recipe to the letter.”  
  
“Well, maybe that is your mistake. The recipes are more guidelines. There is so much more to it than that. You shouldn’t be afraid to experiment.”  
  
Hermione grimaced. “When it comes to food, I’m just not good at experimenting. I don’t know why, but it was the same with Potions at school.”  
  
He chewed and swallowed before answering. “Oh? I thought you were an excellent student?”  
  
She shrugged. “I got the highest mark on my N.E.W.T., but that was because I remembered and followed the recipe to the letter. My first teacher in the subject, Professor Snape, had talents in Potions that I could never hope to achieve. He knew how to experiment, made up countless new potions and improved countless more.”  
  
Voldemort could agree to that. He had always been able to count on Severus to brew Potions like no other. Too bad he had turned out to be a spy. Voldemort still didn’t like to think about it.  
  
“Strangely enough, that is the first good thing I’ve heard about Professor Snape from one of his former students.”  
  
“Oh, he was horrid in the classroom,” Hermione said with a grimace. “He was snarky and petty and despised everyone from Gryffindor. But nonetheless, he was an excellent brewer and turned out to be a great help in the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”  
  
“Is that so?” Voldemort asked, fighting down the fury rising in his chest.  
  
“Oh, yes.” Hermione was interrupted into saying anything more by Althea who wanted more to eat. She poured up some more for her daughter and helped her slice the chicken before turning her attention back to him. “How much do you know about the war?”  
  
“A fair deal,” he admitted truthfully before starting to lie again. “I never fought for either side since I was at the other side of the world when the war broke loose again. I hardly had any friends in Britain, and I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a nationalist, so I didn’t see the point of taking a side.”  
  
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he added when he saw Hermione frowning. “I would never have joined the Death Eaters if I had been asked. I grew up around Muggles, and my father was one. I don’t think that just because I’m a half-blood, I’m better than everyone else. However, the Ministry has never been of any help to me. They were most reluctant to let my father teach me since he was a Muggle—no matter how much knowledge he had about our world. It was only when he managed to find a tutor that they allowed it. But when I took the N.E.W.T.s, they gave me a lower grade than I deserved, just because I was home-schooled. I had to go to Japan to be allowed into a Wizarding University. Unlike Britain, they choose their students by how talented they are when they apply, not by what grades they got in school.”  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. “Yes, the former regime left a lot to be desired. How are the universities in Japan?”  
  
He explained what he knew from his time there and added a lot of made-up details to make the story more believable. He was interrupted once by Althea who wanted her magical toys. So, he conjured up colourful blobs which she could shape into any form she wished. He also made it shift from colour to colour, and Althea was soon too involved in her made-up game to notice them. Once or twice, he heard her mutter something in Parseltongue which sounded a lot like orders for what her toys were supposed to do. It made him smile.  
  
“… and Harry was completely clueless about it!” Hermione said, laughing.  
  
Voldemort chuckled as well, more pleased over the fact that she had no clue whatsoever that she had now given him more knowledge about his former nemesis than he had ever known before, simply by what she had just said about Potter and Ginny Weasley’s relationship. It had taken him the whole meal to lead the conversation into the subject of Wonder Boy. After what Hermione had just told him, he was even more certain that Potter really was unworthy of his attention. The boy was just that: a boy. A mediocre wizard with more luck than common sense.  
  
The only thing that had even made him aware of the boy was the prophesy Snape had told him about. However, now he was starting to think that the prophesy was just something Snape had made up. Not only had Snape been a traitor, but he had in some way managed to keep Lord Voldemort in the dark about it for a very long time. It wasn’t unlikely that Snape had wanted to get James and Harry Potter out of the way only to get Lily Evans back. Snape had, after all, asked Voldemort to spare her. It made him completely furious to think that Snape had managed to fool him so much. If he could, he would bring Snape back from the death, just so he could kill him again. But it was over. Snape was dead, and Voldemort would not buy his lies anymore by thinking Potter could ever be a threat to him.  
  
While he was sending dark thoughts to the dead Potions Master, Althea came up to her mother. “Mum, ssscheep?”  
  
Hermione stroked her daughter’s hair. “Are you tired, honey?”  
  
Althea nodded.  
  
“Yes, I think it’s time for us to take our leave.” She stood and looked at Voldemort with a somewhat shy smile. “Thank you for dinner. It has been lovely.”  
  
He stood as well. “I’m glad you came. I really do think we could be friends.”  
  
She smiled, and her eyes did look honest when she said: “I hope so. Perhaps we could have dinner again soon?”  
  
“That sounds lovely. Why don’t you come over on Wednesday night, same time?” He led her and Althea back to the door.  
  
“Sounds good,” Hermione agreed and stopped at the door.  
  
Voldemort hesitated. They hadn’t touched at all tonight. Even if he’d wanted to, he didn’t want to scare her again. Not yet. Thankfully, Althea gave him an excuse to kneel down. She wanted a hug, and he gave her one, even though he wasn’t sure he liked it. Showing affection had never been one of his favourite pastimes. But he knew what was expected from him as a father, and thus, he hugged his daughter goodbye before simply smiling at Hermione as they left.  
  
For the duration of August, Voldemort spent more time with Hermione and Althea than he had ever done with anyone else before. Getting into Hermione’s knickers again had become a pet project of his, but he took his time. Even though he dreamt about experiencing that kind of power again, he knew Hermione was very reluctant to do it. He didn’t really understand why but was patient and waited for the right time. She would fall for him in due time.  
  
In the meantime, he helped her teach Althea how to talk. Three weeks after they had decided to try to be “friends”, Voldemort suggested they should take Althea out to a public place to let her listen to other people speaking English amongst themselves. Since it was a tremendously hot summer day, Hermione suggested they Apparated to the beach. Voldemort agreed since he had quite fond memories of the times he had gone to the beach in his childhood. It also meant he would get to see Hermione in less clothes than she usually wore, which was a huge bonus.  
  
With a little magic, Voldemort managed to get them a couple of sun chairs. A lot of people seemed to spend the last week of August together with their family at the beach. And here he was, spending it with his.  
  
He didn’t know exactly when he’d started to consider Althea his daughter, but it might have been around the same time he’d realised Althea was a great way to get to Hermione. Anyway, he found Althea much more tolerable than any other child he’d ever had the displeasure to meet.  
  
“Do you want to take a dip in the ocean?” Voldemort asked, keeping his eyes on Althea who was building a sandcastle by the waterline.  
  
“I’m not too fond of it,” Hermione confessed. “Only if I get hot enough.”  
  
He smirked and looked at her, sitting there in just her bathing suit and a big sunhat. She looked perfectly fuckable in that tiny green garment, which was the only thing that had made him agree to come here to this Muggle-infested place. That, and the fact that he actually liked swimming in the ocean.  
  
“You do look hot already,” he remarked.  
  
Just a couple of weeks ago, she would probably have got uncomfortable by his remark, but now, she seemed to have got used to his flirting. He’d always known that a great way to get into a woman’s knickers was through complimenting them.  
  
She did, however, blush. “Well, not hot enough.”  
  
“If you say so,” he purred and looked back to his daughter.  
  
He frowned when he saw that her sandcastle had taken a shape that it wouldn’t have been able to take unless she had used magic.  
  
Hermione seemed to notice it as well because she called out to her. “Althea! Can you come here for a moment?”  
  
The obedient girl came over. Hermione took her hand and said in a low voice. “You do know you can’t use magic out in public, Althea?”  
  
“Didn’t!” Althea lied.  
  
Voldemort didn’t have to be an expert in Legilimency to see that. Althea started to blink very quickly when she lied.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Just don’t do it again, love. You know magic is a secret.”  
  
“’Key Mum,” Althea grumbled and walked back to her castle, continuing to build but seemingly without magic. She still had a problem speaking long sentences in English, but she was happy to use all the words she could.  
  
“We should teach her better control,” Voldemort remarked. “Perhaps even give her a wand?”  
  
Hermione looked at him. “She isn’t allowed to have one.”  
  
“Says the Ministry,” Voldemort replied, brushing some sand from his black swimming trunks.  
  
“And for a good reason. Wands are very dangerous, Marcus,” Hermione lectured him.  
  
Voldemort, seeing that her mind was set, decided not to push it. He would manage to change her mind in time. “Fine. I just want her to be able to control her magic.”  
  
“We can teach her in other ways.”  
  
“Of course,” he said.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, watching Althea play in the sand.  
  
“Did you have time to read the book on magical myths I lent you?” he asked after a while.  
  
He had been surprised to realise how many things they had in common. One of them was that they both enjoyed reading up on different theories in magic and magical phenomena. They could spend many hours arguing about whether something had merit or not. They had quite different views about many aspects of various subjects, and that usually led to very interesting discussions. Voldemort always knew he was right, of course, but seeing her get all flushed and watching her eyes lit up during a dispute made him hard. He fantasised about doing all sorts of naughty things to her in those moments.  
  
“Yes, I did. Most of them seem completely bogus, though,” Hermione said. “Especially that one about how Merlin’s secrets are hidden in a cave under London! I would like to see that since the whole underground of London is being used by either Muggles or wizards. It would have to be pretty deep down then.”

  
Voldemort chuckled, not bothering to tell her that Merlin’s cave was in fact hidden under London. It would only make her question him on how he knew that. “Yes, I did find that rather remarkable as well. However, I did feel the myth of the dragon that could survive in space was interesting.”  
  
“You can’t be serious,” Hermione remarked.  
  
“Oh, quite,” he promised, and thus, the argument started.  
  
A while later, Althea came up to them and wanted them to get into the water with her. Voldemort volunteered. He and Althea had been down in the water for fifteen minutes when Hermione joined them.  
  
“Mum! Look!” Althea said happily as she walked around in the shallow water, moving her arms and pretending like she were swimming.  
  
“That’s very good, Althea,” Hermione praised her as she carefully walked into the cold water.  
  
Voldemort laughed. “Come on, Hermione, surely you aren’t afraid of a little water?”  
  
She scowled at him and resolutely marched up to where he was sitting in the water before she sat down as well. He could see the goosebumps on her skin, and her nipples were standing hard against the fabric of her bathing suit. He forced himself not to become erect by it.  
  
“Mum swum?” Althea asked demandingly. “Marcus, swum.”  
  
“Swim, Althea,” Voldemort corrected her.  
  
“Swim,” Althea agreed and looked expectantly at Hermione since it seemed clear to her that Marcus wasn’t going to listen to her commands.  
  
Hermione sighed and moved farther in the water, swimming a couple of yards before returning back to them.  
  
“There,” she said to Althea before moving to them.  
  
However, a small fish had made its way close to them, and Hermione managed to step on it, which caused her to give a small shriek and grab a hold of Voldemort. Quickly, she jumped on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist.  
  
  
Voldemort laughed. Not so much because he was truly amused but more to show Althea, who looked scared, that there was no danger. Althea, then, began to laugh as well.  
  
“Did the little fish scare you, Hermione?” Voldemort teased, not minding at all, having the young woman on his lap. His hands were on her waist, holding her up, and it sent wave after wave of pleasure through his body.  
  
She scowled at him, but the flush on her chest and face told him she wasn’t unaffected by the pleasure between them.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he mumbled and stroked her back. “I’ll always be here to save you from scary fishies … and other things.”  
  
“That’s good to hear,” she answered in a low voice, her lips almost touching his.  
  
Salazar, he wanted her. He wanted to feel the pleasure and power of being inside her again. He needed it.  
  
Before he could stop himself, he claimed her lips in a heated kiss. She did answer it but only for a short moment, then she broke the kiss and exhaled.  
  
“We shouldn’t …” she mumbled, looking down.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered, cursing that he needed to play the gentleman if he wanted to have her more than once.  
  
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she moved off him and to Althea, who was watching them in confusion. However, when Hermione started to play with her, she seemed to forget that her mother and “her Marcus”, as she called him, had ever done anything inappropriate.  
  
That night, he started with an old hobby of his. His ever-present need for control sometimes sent him out on hunts. The sexual frustration from being denied by Hermione made his craving for control even stronger. He Disapparated.  
  
The hunting was something he hadn’t done since he was younger. Being a Dark Lord had fulfilled his need for control nicely, and he had managed quite well with only being a teacher in power over the fate of students for the past four years. But now he needed the control that came from holding another human’s life in the palm of his hand.  
  
He continued with the hunting every night for the rest of the summer. Always in a new country and in Muggle places. He was very careful not to fall into a pattern, making sure to choose different disguises, different sorts of torture and _always_ different sorts of people. It didn’t matter who it was—all that mattered was that he was in control. The only rule he had was never to touch his victims. He showed his superiority to them by always using magic. Some of them, he let go after taking out his frustration on them, but most victims, he killed.  
  
In September, it became a daily routine. During the day, he was either with Hermione and Althea or he was preparing for the coming semester. During the night, he hunted.  
  
However, he started noticing a change in Hermione; she became more distant. The kiss and the fact that they were coming closer to the beginning of the semester seemed to make her, once again, bothered by the fact that he would be her teacher. It didn’t help that he assured her that he would not treat her any differently in class. After saying it for the billionth time without reassuring her, he decided that he would just have to wait until classes started to show her.  
  
There was only a week left until the semester began when he was on his way to her flat for dinner. He mentally cursed when he saw one of his colleagues walk up the stairs. There were only a few other Professors who had returned to the house, and only one of them lived on his storey, three doors away from his flat. Since he didn’t want to be spotted walking into a student’s flat, he just nodded at the colleague, continued to pass Hermione’s door and went down the stairs slowly. When he heard the shutting of a door, he quickly and silently turned around and walked up the stairs again. After making sure no one was in sight, he opened the door to Hermione’s flat and entered.  
  
To his great surprise, he found Hermione reading a wedding magazine with Althea on the couch.  
  
“Dreaming about the future, Hermione?” he asked with an arched eyebrow and fell down on the couch next to her.  
  
She snorted. “Not in the least. Ginny and I were shopping in Muggle London a couple of weeks ago, and now she thinks she wants a Muggle-inspired wedding dress. I promised to pick up some magazines for her. But Althea thought they were pretty, so we are looking at the pictures together.”  
  
“Pretty!” Althea concurred.  
  
Hermione smiled at her before she turned back to Voldemort who was looking down in the magazine. “Are they to your liking as well?”  
  
He chuckled. “Can’t say I have anything against pretty women in pretty dresses. You would look fantastic in them.”  
  
As usual when he complimented her these days, she blushed and changed the subject. “What have you been doing since last night?”  
  
The true answer was murdering an old man in China, but he wasn’t going to say that for obvious reasons. So, he lied. “Just planning my lectures.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He could feel her tense. She did not want to know anything before her classmates, which she had told him, repeatedly. He pretended not to notice her tension.  
  
“How about you? Besides picking up magazines?”  
  
She relaxed again. “Not much. The weather was horrible, so after we had been to the store, we went home. I answered a letter from my parents.”  
  
“Oh, how are they?”  
  
“Good. They were thrilled to hear that Althea had begun to talk so much and wanted to know more about that.”  
  
They talked a bit more and then started to prepare dinner together. They did it routinely nowadays. Voldemort did most of the cooking, and Hermione set the table, did the salad and picked out what they would drink. He noted that she didn’t consume a lot of alcohol, almost only during the weekends _if_ she had company. When he asked about it, she just gave him a faint smile and said: “Bad experiences.”  
  
He didn’t mind. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by far. Even though he could have a glass or two at dinner and had a very high tolerance level for alcohol, he wanted to be able to stay in control of the situation. Alcohol had a tendency to make you less in control, and he couldn’t understand why anyone would like that.  
  
This day, which was a Thursday, they only drank water with the spicy turkey and rice. When they were done, he put Althea to bed as Hermione cleaned up the kitchen.  
  
“ _Are you Mum’s boyfriend?_ ” Althea asked in Parseltongue as he lifted her into the bed.  
  
“ _Boyfriend?”_ he replied, surprised she even knew the concept of ‘boyfriend’. “ _No, why would you think that?_ ”  
  
“ _Everyone at the Burrow has_ _boyfriends. Gin said Mum should get a boyfriend. Why can’t you be Mum’s boyfriend?_ ”  
  
Gin must mean Ginevra Weasley, he figured.  
  
“ _Because your mother doesn’t want to have me as her boyfriend,_ ” he explained honestly, while he wrapped the covers around her.  
  
“ _Does Mum want to have someone else as her boyfriend?_ ” Althea asked, looking rather worried.  
  
Voldemort huffed. “ _I hope not. Then I would have to terminate him.”_  
  
“ _Good,”_ Althea replied and yawned.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. He had noticed some time ago that she was a rather selfish young lady who always wanted to have things her way.  
  
“ _Does anyone at the Burrow act like they want to be your mother’s boyfriend?_ ” he wondered.  
  
Althea shook her head. “ _When you are a boyfriend, you kiss. No one there kisses Mum.”_  
  
Ah, so that was why she thought he was Hermione’s boyfriend. “ _Good. Tell me if anyone does, okay?”_  
  
“ _Okay.”_  
  
He kissed her forehead and rose.  
  
“ _Marcus?”_ Althea asked, looking up at him again.  
  
“ _Yes, dear?”_  
  
“ _If you would be Mum’s boyfriend, would you be my dad then?”_  
  
Voldemort hesitated. Hermione and he had never talked about when they would tell Althea that he was her father. He just assumed they would tell her sometime, eventually, when she was old enough to understand their situation and keep it a secret. Right now, he wasn’t sure he could trust her not to call him “Dad” in a public place. Although, now that she asked, he felt very reluctant to lie.  
  
“Hermione?” he called.  
  
She came into the room, frowning in question.  
  
“She just asked if I could be her dad,” he said in a low voice.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Why?”  
  
He didn’t want Hermione to know about the whole boyfriend discussion, so he just shrugged. After all, children asked strange things all the time.  
  
Hermione nibbled her lower lip and looked down at Althea. It seemed like she wasn’t keen to lie either. She sank down on Althea’s bed and took her small hand.  
  
“Althea, honey … can you keep a secret?”  
  
Althea’s eyes widened in delight and she sat up in the bed. “Yes!”  
  
“It’s important that you don’t tell anyone about this,” Hermione continued slowly. “Not anyone at the Burrow or anyone else.”  
  
Althea nodded seriously, but Voldemort could clearly see her excitement. However, he highly doubted Althea would actually be able to keep the secret. Children could not be trusted. He would know. He had questioned many in his days. Perhaps a small spell that would make her ... reluctant to tell the truth to anyone? Hm, he would have to think of something that Hermione wouldn’t notice.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. “Well, it’s like this that … Marcus is already your father, and he will always be.”  
  
Althea looked up at him. “ _Even if you are not Mum’s boyfriend?_ ”  
  
He sank down on his knees next to the bed and stroked her cheek. “ _Precisely. You know how everyone always has_ _a mother and father, right?”_  
  
Althea nodded.  
  
“ _Well, I’m your father. I didn’t know I was until I met you a couple of months ago, but I’ll always be your father. No matter how much time your mother and I spend together.”_  
  
Althea nodded slowly, and he hoped she grasped it.  
  
“ _But it’s a secret. Your mother and I will_ _be in trouble if anyone finds_ _out we have a child_ _together. So it’s important you never call me_ ‘ _Dad’ when_ _anyone else can hear. Do you understand?”_  
  
Althea frowned. “ _Like Romeo and Juliet?”_  
  
He really liked what books Hermione chose as bedtime stories for their daughter. “ _Exactly. A lot of people will_ _get very mean if they find_ _out now.”_  
  
She nodded seriously. “Okay.”  
  
He ruffled her hair. “Good girl.”  
  
Althea looked up at her mother with a smile and pressed her tiny hand to her mouth demonstratively. “Won’t tell.”  
  
Hermione smiled in relief. “That’s good, love.”  
  
Althea yawned again. After a few minutes of pampering, Voldemort followed Hermione out of the room and closed the door behind them. They sank down in the couch, and he was surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh of relief.  
  
“That went much easier than I had thought. What did you talk about?” she asked.  
  
“I told her that we would be in trouble if anyone else found out I was her father so she couldn’t call me that in public. She asked if it would be like Romeo and Juliet, and I told her yes.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “She has always liked that story. Well, I’m glad we told her. She deserves to know who her father is.”  
  
“She does.”  
  
He leaned his cheek against her head, enjoying the soft texture of her hair. Their arms and hands were touching, and he wondered if he should try to grasp her hand. He could feel the pleasuring sensation that always came from touching her, and he wanted more.  
  
Unfortunately, before he had time to try, she withdrew and moved to the side so she could watch him instead.  
  
“Sorry, I just am so tired,” she mumbled.  
  
He sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione, you are allowed to touch me. I’m not the only Professor who comforts a student with a hug from time to time.”  
  
She looked down. “You know it wouldn’t be just a comforting hug.”  
  
Getting annoyed, he twisted in the couch so he was facing her as well. “No one else knows.”  
  
“But I know.”  
  
He scowled. “We have been through this, Hermione. I won’t give you special treatment. Not even if you asked or bribed me with the best blowjob, would I do that.”  
  
She blushed, but her face was scowling as well when she looked up. “Perhaps not intentionally, but …”  
  
“No. I wouldn’t. I don’t even look at the names when I’m grading my students’ papers.” That was a lie, but he knew Professors who did that because they wanted to be ‘fair’. Like that mattered. “And if you say something incorrect in my class, I will point it out, just as I would do with anyone else.”  
  
She didn’t answer but looked down again, causing that nagging feeling that being her teacher wasn’t her only issue with their relationship to rise. However, he couldn’t pinpoint what she was thinking if she kept avoiding his gaze. So, until he could figure out what it was, he would just have to break down her defences.  
  
He sighed angrily. “I’m getting tired of having to defend my teaching abilities. I make it a point to separate my work from my private life.”  
  
“But that isn’t the point!” she retorted and straightened on the couch, finally meeting his eyes.  
  
He frowned and looked at her closely, trying to see what she was thinking. She was worried and angry, and yet …  
  
“If I weren’t your teacher, would you want to have a relationship?” he asked slowly.  
  
She groaned and closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “You are my teacher and wishing otherwise is just that: wishing.”  
  
“But I won’t always be your teacher, and wishing is not pointless,” he remarked softly.  
  
“A lot can change in a couple of years,” she replied.  
  
He became annoyed. “True, so just stop the ‘good girl’ act. I am well aware you know some laws can be broken. You did that quite often with your friends at Hogwarts, or so you have said.”  
  
“That was different; that was for the greater good.”  
  
“And you don’t consider what we could do together good?”  
  
He was getting to her, he could feel it. Manipulating people was always his strong side, and he finally found something effective to manipulate her with.  
  
“We won’t be hurting anyone else.”  
  
“But what if it doesn’t work out? You’ll be in a position of power over me and …”  
  
“Stop doubting my ability to separate work from private life!” he growled. “You know very well that if I start to grade you unfairly, you can complain to Cox-Trotter. She will investigate, and since I don’t want to lose my job, I won’t be able to tell her that we had a relationship. She will give me a warning and maybe have your work transferred to some other Transfiguration Professor for grading. You know this, Hermione. Just tell me what you are scared of.”  
  
He reached out and took her hand gently and started to massage it. She shuddered but didn’t withdraw right away. Was this what she feared? Yes, he could see worry in her eyes as well as guilt. Why did she feel guilty over the pleasure?  
  
“I–I need to use the bathroom,” she suddenly stuttered, pulling her hand away and fleeing to the bathroom.  
  
Voldemort grimaced as the door slammed shut, and he leaned back in the couch. The only sound he could hear was the rain clattering against the window. It wasn’t only the touching thing that bothered her; that much was clear. She was only coming up with excuses. It bothered him that he didn’t understand what was scaring her. Was it the sex? Or maybe him?  
  
No, he hadn’t done anything to unsettle her. Well, except fucking her across the kitchen table. But they had agreed to start over since then. So, that couldn’t be it.  
  
After fifteen minutes of waiting, he rose from the couch and went to knock at the bathroom door. “Hermione? Are you okay?”  
  
No sound was heard.  
  
“For all I know, you have passed out in there, and it would be irresponsible of me not to open the door and check.”  
  
The door unlocked. He opened it and found her standing in front of him, looking down at the floor. Again. He was getting nowhere if she acted like this.  
  
“I just don’t know if I want this,” Hermione said quietly. “I have never been in a relationship. I don’t know how it should be.”  
  
He reached out and grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards. Their eyes met.  
  
“Neither do I. Have you never wondered why I haven’t settled down by now? I’m fifteen years older than you and have no idea what to expect from a relationship. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. But I want you.”  
  
It was scary that all that, except the age difference, was true. He was in fact over fifty years her senior, but everyone thought he was in his late thirties and he preferred to keep that illusion intact.  
  
She was about to look away again, but he stepped in closer to her. “Don’t.”  
  
She looked at him again.  
  
“We both know I can’t promise you everything will be like a fairytale. In fact, there will be a lot of sneaking around and lying … but I don’t care. You make me happy.”  
  
For some reason, that made her look really guilty. She took a step away from him, breaking their touch.  
  
“Well … that is just the thing then. I’m not sure you make me feel the same thing.”  
  
His hand fell down. “What?”  
  
She flinched at his hard voice. “If it weren’t for the touching, I’m not sure I would even consider being with you. Don’t get me wrong. You are very nice and good-looking and all that, and I think you can be a good father for Althea but …” She shrugged. “I don’t know what sort of man I would want to be with, but … there are just so many things about you that I don’t feel comfortable with. I’m sorry.”  
  
Voldemort just stared at her. He was sure he had said everything right. He’d declared his “love” without really saying the word because that was never good early on in a relationship. He’d been needy without being pathetic. He had treated her with respect, given her space when she needed it, listened to her problems, done everything a bloke was supposed to, and yet, he could see that she was being perfectly honest. If it weren’t for their special touch, she wouldn’t have wanted him at all. Only as a friend. The only reason she hadn’t told him this sooner was because she didn’t want to hurt him. Because she considered him a friend.  
  
He was not pleased.

 

xxx

  
Hermione watched worriedly as Marcus’s expression changed from surprise to confusion to anger. No, not anger, fury. She took another step backwards. She hadn’t really wanted to tell him the truth about her feelings, or lack thereof. Everything she had said was true, and it surprised her greatly that she could feel such an intense pleasure from touching someone she didn’t really find exciting otherwise.  
  
Over the past weeks, they got to know each other better. She thought she had got him figured out. He was a good friend. He could be very funny and charming, but there was just something that made her reluctant to be more with him. However, she had noticed that he wanted her, and that made her feel guilty for not feeling the same thing. She didn’t want him to think that she was leading him on.  
  
She couldn’t put her finger on what it was that he was lacking. Maybe it was the constant control of his emotions. He just wasn’t passionate. He would say great things but never show them. There was also something about him that felt … fake. It was almost like he wanted to say more but didn’t because he was being a gentleman. Even when they were having their academic discussions, she would sometimes provoke him by saying something she knew he disagreed with, and he would just fold. He probably did that because he didn’t want her to be angry, and that was just very unattractive. She didn’t want someone who was afraid of making her upset. She wanted someone who stood his ground.  
  
However, now she became surprised by being able to see all these emotions play over his face. She was about to take another step backwards, but he grabbed her wrist.  
  
“Nothing?” he hissed. “You feel nothing for me?”  
  
“I–I think you are nice,” she stuttered.  
  
“NICE?”  
  
“Shh, Althea…”  
  
He whipped out his wand and placed a silencing spell over the bedroom. Then he aimed the wand at Hermione. She was too shocked to respond at once.  
  
“Nice?” he asked again in a lower tone.  
  
“Marcus, what are you …?” Was he joking or had he gone through a personality change? Hermione had no idea.  
  
He pulled her out of the bathroom and threw her into the armchair.  
  
“I. Am. Not. Nice.”  
  
Then, he pressed her against the back of the armchair, straddled her and kissed her hard.  
  
For a moment, Hermione didn’t know how she was supposed to take it. Before she had time to find a rational reaction, her body responded for her. She kissed him back. All the things she had just said didn’t matter. He tasted wonderful, unlike anyone she had ever kissed before. This was the passion she wanted. He touched her and didn’t hold back, his hands massaging her shoulders and arms, stroking her breasts through her shirt. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to show her. For the first time, she felt like he was completely honest. It scared her, and she realised why he had been holding back. It was too much.  
  
Before he had time to rip her shirt off, she pushed him off her. He fell down on the floor, just barely missing the coffee table. He stared at her with burning eyes; his lips were bright red from the hard kiss; and he was breathing heavily.  
  
“Seems you aren’t such a nice boy as you pretend to be,” she remarked breathlessly.  
  
“No, I’m not,” he growled and rose slowly. “I will have you again.”  
  
“Not tonight.”  
  
She was almost pleading. It was too much to take in at once. This new side of him both feared and excited her. She no longer knew what she wanted, and until she did, she wanted to be alone. At least she thought so.  
  
“No.” His answer made her relax. “But soon.”  
  
He stalked out of the room, and Hermione sat motionless in the armchair, her gaze fixated at the rain that was falling against the window.  
  
What the hell just happened?  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Ankoku Dezaia as a late birthday present! And I also want to thank Nerys and Serpent In Red for betaing it and pointing out what I can do better.

**Chapter 8**  
  
Hermione didn’t see him the next day and for that she was grateful. Their encounter had shaken her. It was clear that he had been hiding a large part of his personality from her. Perhaps for good reasons. It frightened her, yes, but not as much as it intrigued her. Now that she knew there was so much more to him than what she had seen before, she no longer found him boring. Instead, there was suddenly a whole spectrum of secrets she couldn’t wait to find out about him. Yet, she didn't have time to dig into his past and unravel his emotions. She had nannies to find and interview before her classes started. After interviewing the most dull and irritating individuals, she finally spotted one whom she liked: Miss Julie Cooper. So, she’d sent that witch an owl, stating the time and date when Miss Cooper could start.   
  
When Hermione got back from the university’s owlery, she saw Marcus for the first time since the incident. He was on his way out, wrapping a long, green cloak around his shoulders when she spotted him. He looked up at almost the same time, and a fire lit at once in his eyes. She slowed down, and he began walking towards her. She stopped outside her door, withdrawing her wand to open it. He stopped right in front of her, letting his eyes wander over her hungrily. He wasn’t hiding what he wanted anymore, that much was clear. She held her breath, not knowing if she wanted him to ravish her against the door or not. She was disappointed when he just smirked and stepped past her before continuing downwards. She watched him until he disappeared out of view, but he didn’t look back.  
  
The weekend was spent with Ginny, Harry and Ron. They were finally able to spend time together in the same relaxed way they always had. Although, there were some subjects they stayed away from. No one asked about Althea’s father or Hermione’s love life in general, or the fact that they had missed four years of each other’s life. If there was anything Hermione couldn’t relate to, someone would explain the history like she had just been away that day, and she did the same on the few occasions they talked about her life in Australia. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested in what she had experienced. It was only that it would require too many background stories for them to understand, and Hermione had never been very keen to speak a lot about herself.  
  
Monday came, and even though Hermione would only spend twenty minutes in school, she still got butterflies in her stomach when she got herself ready to leave. Since she only needed to register on the course she would be taking and pick up her schedule, she had decided to bring Althea along. Perhaps it were the feeling of guilt for previously neglecting her daughter but this time, she wanted to establish to everyone right away that she was a mother.  
  
It was a cold October day, but the sun was shining and the trees were beautifully coloured by the fall. Hermione enjoyed the walk with Althea down to the big, grey university building. The building fit right into the classical architecture of the campus.   
  
“Mum, wha’s that?” Althea asked and pointed at a big fountain that was standing in front of the school building.  
  
“That’s a fountain,” Hermione explained.  
  
“Why’s there water in it?” Althea asked.  
  
Hermione thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s for the birds to bath in? We’ll have to look it up when we get home.”  
  
She helped her daughter up the stairs to the wide-open doors. When she entered the building, she found herself standing in a great hall. In the middle of the hall, there was a high pillar where someone had put a board on. It gave directions to which room you could register for your course of choice. Underneath the text, there was a map. Hermione memorised it and went to the classroom for Transfiguration.  
  
The classroom surprised her. She had expected something like at Hogwarts with the teacher’s desk up front and benches for the students to sit in. Well, there were benches and desks of course, but they were placed like in a classic Greek theatre on different levels in a half-circle. A few students were sitting there, talking in low voices to each other. Two girls caught Hermione’s attention. They were giggling and glancing over to the other side of the room. She followed their glances.  
  
Just a few yards from the lowest seats was a big stage. The biggest blackboard she had ever seen covered the whole wall behind it. In the middle of the stage, a desk was standing and behind it sat two teachers. She recognised Marcus instantly, and the moment she saw him, he looked up as well and gave her a smile before he looked back to the student he was talking to. Hermione had a feeling he was the reason for the girls giggling. A flash of jealousy ran through her, but she tried to shut it down. She had no reason to be jealous. Just because she and Marcus had a history didn’t mean she had any claim over him. And he was a handsome wizard. Of course other students would notice and talk about him.  
  
Trying to ignore the girls and the handsome professor, she turned her attention to the other professor. He was also male but looked ancient. His white hair was thin and long, and his hands shook slightly as he wrote something on a parchment in front of him.  
  
She used the three-step stairs to get up on the stage and walked to the older teacher who wasn’t occupied by another student. He looked up as she came closer and seemed a bit surprised to see her with Althea, but his smile was welcoming.  
  
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger.”  
  
“Ah, yes, I’m Professor Thellius. You are a postgraduate?” His voice was as dry as his hands seemed to be, but it held a warmness that made her think about Dumbledore.  
  
“Exactly. I’m really looking forward to begin,” she admitted.  
  
“Glad to hear. Your wand signature here, please.” He held out a paper for her, and she signed it. “Excellent. Here is your schedule, but I’m afraid that if you have any questions, you’ll have to ask Professor Foster here. I’m the teacher for the undergraduates.”  
  
Right then, the student Marcus was talking with left, and he turned his attention to her.   
  
“Hello, Hermione.” The tone was friendly but not like they intimately knew each other.  
  
Hermione nodded at him, uncomfortable talking to him in front of another teacher. What if the old wizard could tell something was going on between her and Marcus? Thankfully, she was saved by Althea, who didn’t seem aware about those sort of things.   
  
“Marcus!” Althea cheered, let go of her mother’s hand and walked up to the edge of the desk. She had to stand on her tiptoes to be able to see him over it.  
  
Marcus smiled at her. “And Althea! Are you here to start school as well?”  
  
Althea just giggled. Hermione was thankful the girl heeded her warnings from that morning and wasn’t calling Marcus “Dad”.  
  
“I told you about my new neighbours, right, Cornelis?” Marcus asked his colleague.  
  
Thellius chuckled. “Indeed, you did. And so did Professor Cox-Trotter. Even our dear Minister had only good things to say about Miss Granger when he heard she would continue her education here.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t sure if Thellius was teasing her or was just stating facts, so she just stood there, smiling uncertainly to him. It felt strange knowing these people had talked about her. Even Kingsley, the new Minister of Magic, whom she hadn’t spoken to for four years, apparently had.  
  
“Oh, and you forgot to mention Master Nabelius,” Marcus commented. “Since Miss Granger is such a famous addition to Oxford, it’s of course only through his achievements that we were able to get her here.”  
  
“Every good addition to Oxford is Master Nabelius’s achievement,” Thellius said. “Whatever would we do without him?”  
  
“Wallow in decadency of course. Listening to him, one would believe that we give into our primitive desires at every lecture,” Marcus said, his eyes on Hermione.   
  
Thellius just chuckled, not noticing the sudden tenseness between his colleague and Hermione.   
  
Marcus was definitely teasing her, and she felt a blush creeping up. Should she comment on what he had just said? She was relieved when Marcus asked her another question.  
  
“Do you think you have everything in order for tomorrow, Hermione?” Marcus asked.  
  
“Yes, I think so. When I got the information letter from the university a month ago, they said I could expect lectures to begin at eight. I have already bought all the books necessary and got a babysitter for Althea ...” She trailed off when she saw Marcus’s amused look. She felt her blush increasing. Of course he didn’t mean for her to tell him every single thing she had in order.  
  
Thellius cleared his throat. “You’ll note on your schedule that most of them won’t begin before ten,” Thellius remarked and then added dryly: “Somehow, Professor Foster has yet again managed to make sure he gets his beauty sleep while everyone else has to begin at eight.”  
  
Hermione muffled a laugh and decided that she liked the old man and was sorry she wouldn’t have him as a teacher.  
  
“Well, I do want to look my best for my students. And clearly it’s working since I have the highest attendance percentage of all Transfiguration professors,” Marcus teased while winking at Hermione, clearly getting a kick out of making her feel uncomfortable.   
  
And she had thought he was nice.  
  
Before he could say anything else to make her blush, she bid them good day and left the classroom with a second glance at the other students in the room. All of them seemed to be younger than her, and they clearly knew each other. Perhaps they were all undergraduates? She wondered how many people would be in her class. In Australia, there hadn’t been many postgraduates. She remembered Cox-Trotter mentioning something about a lot of students being older than Hermione, but that didn’t say anything about how many would be taking Transfiguration. Preferably, there wouldn’t be too many. Hermione liked to be in a small group since it was easier to have fair discussions. If there were too many, it was harder to allow everyone to have their say in the matter.  
  
She sighed. She would just have to wait until tomorrow and see.  
  
Just as Thellius had said, she didn’t begin until ten the next morning. There was only one lecture and it would take three hours. The schedule was not very taxing, lecture-wise. She would have two lectures a week and the rest of the time she would be studying on her own. Since she was only studying half-time, she wouldn’t have to write as many essays as the other students had to, even though they would all have the same lectures. That meant she had more time to read the mountain of books they had been assigned on the course.  
  
Since she had asked her nanny, Julie Cooper, to come at eight, Hermione decided to go to school at half past nine. Althea, however, was not very fond of her leaving.  
  
“Why do you go?” Althea demanded to know, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed.  
  
Hermione had been packing her bag, but now she sat down on her knees in front of her daughter. “I have to go to school to learn things so I can buy us food and clothes. But I’m sure that once I’m gone, you and Julie will have lots and lots of fun and you won’t even know I’m missing.”  
  
She glanced up at Miss Cooper who nodded to Althea. The woman was just a few years older than Hermione but already had a great deal of experience dealing with children. She was the oldest child of four and had helped her single mother a lot during her teenage years. The fact that her mother was also single made Miss Cooper very sympathetic of Hermione, something the other nannies hadn’t been.  
  
“Yes, Althea, perhaps we can read a story together,” Miss Cooper suggested in a heavy London accent. “What is your favourite story?”  
  
Althea seemed a bit doubtful.  
  
“Why don’t you show Miss Cooper your collection of Grimm-stories?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Oh, can you?” Miss Cooper said, probably exaggerating her eagerness. “I have never heard about the Grimm-stories.”  
  
Althea hesitated. “Mmkay.”  
  
When Althea had taken Miss Cooper to her room, Hermione left, hoping that Althea wouldn’t notice anything. She would only be away for three hours. Sometimes, Althea could spend such a long time playing alone in her room after all.  
  
Even though she was early, she wasn’t the first one in the classroom. It was the same room as she had been in the day before, and at the first level of seats, two women were sitting. They seemed to be around her age, and when they heard her enter, they looked up.  
  
“Hello,” the women to the left greeted her. She seemed to be a very tall, black woman with long, brown hair and thick glasses. “Postgraduate, too?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “Hello. Yes, I am.”   
  
She was a little on her guard. She was not used to being on a friendly tone with other women. Even though no one had been directly mean to her since Hogwarts, no one had actually been friendly either. Just polite.  
  
“I haven’t seen you here before,” the other girl remarked with a distinct French accent. She was the complete opposite of the girl next to her. She was short with dark blond hair and had the bluest eyes Hermione had ever seen.  
  
“No, I studied in Australia before, but I got accepted here this fall. I’m Hermione Granger.” She went up and shook hands with them both, feeling a bit hopeful. Perhaps she would actually be able to make some female friends in this class?  
  
“Cynthia Bernard,” the black woman introduced herself, smiling. Now Hermione could hear a faint French accent in her voice as well.  
  
“Rosaline Morel.” The smile on the blond woman’s face wasn’t as warm, but not unfriendly either. “Are you that Hermione Granger? Harry Potter’s friend?”  
  
“I am,” she replied, trying to sound natural, hoping she didn’t have to answer a lot of questions about Harry.  
  
“Okay, my boyfriend has mentioned you once or twice,” Rosaline said with a shrug. “Apparently, you went to Hogwarts together.”  
  
“Oh?” she asked, surprised. “Didn’t you go to Hogwarts yourself?”  
  
“No, both Cynthia and I are from Beauxbaton.”  
  
“Ah, okay. Who is your boyfriend, then?” she asked, curious.  
  
The blonde’s face broke into a smile. “He is right there. Draco!”  
  
Hermione could feel her whole body tense as she heard the name. She turned around slowly, begging to Merlin that there was some sort of mistake. Of course it wasn’t. He was taller, held his blond hair longer and had a few wrinkles on his forehead, but it was still him. The person who had bullied her through Hogwarts just because she was Muggle-born. Draco Malfoy.  
  
He stared at her with equal disbelief. “Granger?”  
  
“Malfoy,” she replied frostily.  
  
“Aren’t you in Australia?”  
  
How on earth did he know that? “I got back. Aren’t you in prison?”  
  
He paled, but step up to them. “I got out. They’ve only sentenced me with three months, you know.”  
  
“Right.” She grimaced as she remembered reading about it in the newspaper.  
  
“Yeah.” There was an uncomfortable silence between them. “So, you are a postgraduate at Transfiguration as well?”  
  
“Yes. Are you?”  
  
“Ah, no … or yes. I’ll be here but not really … It’s complicated.” He sounded so sad it almost made Hermione feel sorry for him. “Well, er, I’ll sit here and …” He didn’t look at her as he went around the bench and sat down next to his girlfriend who patted his back and then sent Hermione a glare. The other young woman wouldn’t meet her eyes at all.  
  
Hermione sighed. For a moment, she had thought that she might be on good footing with her classmates. It seemed like she was always doomed to be the lonely student. Feeling a bit down, she went up two levels and sat down close to the wall. She pulled out a notebook and pencils. In Australia, they hadn’t been so big on quills and parchments. Since paper and pens were less expensive and easier to handle anyway, Hermione hadn’t minded at all. She didn’t bother to change back now.  
  
The class was bigger than she had expected. At five to ten, twenty more people entered the room. Some seemed to be new and alone like Hermione, but most students greeted each other and sat down in groups. Hermione recognised a few of them from Hogwarts. However, they were all older than her and had been in other Houses, so she didn’t know their names. Then, one minute before the clock struck ten, a girl she recognised from Gryffindor stepped into the room. She was short with a boyish hairstyle and dressed in Muggle clothing: jeans and a big pink T-shirt. Hermione wasn’t the only one spotting her. Everyone else in the room was wearing different kinds of robes. However, Hermione liked the fact that someone dared to wear Muggle clothing. It made her smile. Just then, the girl looked her way. Since Hermione didn’t want her to think she was smiling at the way she looked, she kept smiling in a friendly way. The girl came up next to her.  
  
“Is this seat taken?” she asked.  
  
“No, not at all,” Hermione answered, pleasantly surprised that she wanted to sit next to her and annoyed that she couldn’t remember the girl’s name.  
  
“You’re Hermione Granger, right?” the girl asked, making Hermione feel even worse for not remembering her name.  
  
“Yes, and you were in Gryffindor, too, right? Sorry, I can’t remember …”  
  
“Victoria Cole. Can’t blame you for not remembering. I was two years over you and didn’t spend a lot of time in the common room. I just recognised you because you were always hanging out with Potter.”  
  
“Story of my life,” Hermione replied, only half-joking.  
  
“I can imagine. So, you are new here?”  
  
“Yes, I took my bachelor in Australia.”  
  
“Good for you. The great Down Under.” She pulled out a pencil-box from her bag and showed Hermione that it was covered with koala bears. “Love them! Anyway—”  
  
Whatever Victoria had planned to say was interrupted by the entrance of Marcus. Everyone got quiet at once. Hermione could see three women a few rows away nudging each other. One of them actually licked her lips. Hermione rolled her eyes. Marcus wasn’t _that_ spectacular. Sure, he was handsome, clever and a great kisser, but there were other things that were important in a man. Okay, Hermione couldn't think of anything more she wanted in a man right now, but still ...  
  
Yet, she couldn’t really keep her eyes away from him when he stepped up on the stage and placed his briefcase on the desk before facing the class. He was wearing a tailored navy-blue robe and looked much more professional than Hermione had ever seen him. However, she could feel a small itching in her fingers at the thought of what lay underneath. Merlin, now _she_ was licking her lips. Hermione scowled at herself and blushed when his eyes wandered over everyone in the class. She sank back in her chair, hoping he hadn’t seen her flaming cheeks. Thankfully, he didn’t look at her but addressed them all.  
  
“Good morning. I’m Marcus and I’ll be teaching you Transfiguration at its highest level.” He paused, once again letting his eyes sweep over the class. “I want to begin by saying that if you don’t understand something, ask. It’s worse to fail the course than to admit that you didn’t fully understand everything. This course is hard, and the theories you are expected to understand will seem like … well, I can’t say ‘Ancient Greek’ because that is a perfectly understandable language. Especially compared to this.”  
  
A few people in the class chuckled.  
  
“Then, there are the practical spells as well.” He brought out his wand and waved it in a complex motion.  
  
Suddenly, they were all sitting on the grass in a forest. Hermione felt the grass beneath her like it was really there and could smell the forest around her. It was too vivid to be an illusion, but she had never heard of a spell capable of transfiguring so much at once. The next moment, the forest disappeared, and they were sitting in the benches again. Some of the students let out cries of amazement.  
  
Marcus twisted his wand between his fingers. “Does anyone have any idea if I just transfigured the room or your vision of it?”  
  
No one answered. Not even Hermione.  
  
“Good. If anyone had known the answer and said it out loud, I would have had to come up with a new assignment for you to hand in on Friday,” Marcus said with a pleased look on his face as he flicked his wand towards the blackboard. The assignment showed up.   
  
“It’s important that you follow the assignment specification to the letter. When I say I want five hundred words, I mean five hundred words. Ten words more or less. I have better things to do than to read overambitious students’ unnecessarily long reports.”  
  
Hermione smiled and blushed a little of embarrassment at the memory of when she had been a student at Hogwarts and always written longer than required. Back then, she had thought it just showed how good she was, but when she had tried to do the same at the university in Australia, the teacher had not been happy. Now Hermione could see how stupid she had been. Of course none of her teachers had cared for all the extra work she’d put into her homework all the time. It had been only more work for them to go through. Quality before quantity was her new academic motto.  
  
“Now, over to today’s lecture.”   
  
Marcus launched into a long monologue about Welkin’s law and its adaption to Transfiguration. Hermione quickly realised that Marcus was rather fond of taking theories from other fields in magic and mixing them with Transfiguration. It delighted her because she liked to do the same thing. It was all magic after all, so why divide it?  
  
They got a small break halfway through the lesson where Hermione took the opportunity to flex her cramping hand and talk more to Victoria.  
  
“He is so tough,” the other girl remarked with a grimace, also massaging her hand.  
  
“But he knows a lot,” Hermione commented, hoping she didn’t sound as jealous as she felt.  
  
Marcus hadn’t even had to glance at his notes more than a few times as he’d talked. She was sure he knew everything by heart, and that was amazing considering how utterly complicated these theories were. She wasn’t sure she was fully able to wrap her mind around it. She would have to reread her notes when she went home, and maybe even look some things up to gain a better comprehension. But he’d just stood there, writing on the board with his wand as he’d explained things. He had also been able to answer every question thrown at him without having to think for more than a few seconds. But then again, he was older than her and had a lot more experience with Transfiguration. When she reached his age, she would probably (hopefully) do the same.   
  
“Oh, he knows everything. And he is a good lecturer as well. I had Professor Thellius last semester and he is good, too, but sometimes he starts to speak about totally unnecessary things he has experienced when doing this or that. Marcus, at least, stays on the subject and always knows the answer when you ask him. He is like a bloody walking dictionary!”  
  
Hermione giggled. “Isn’t it weird though, that he lets everyone call him by his first name?”  
  
“Nah, I don’t mind. It feels like he really cares about his students. When you ask him something, he really listens. And he’s got great connections. I knew another postgraduate who took her doctoral degree last semester, and he managed to get her a job like this fast.” Victoria snapped her fingers to illustrate. “Now she got this really good job at some research company in the U.S.A.”  
  
“Oh? That was nice of him,” Hermione remarked with a frown.  
  
Didn’t that sound a little suspicious?   
  
Glancing down at him, she could see that two students were standing there, talking to him. The female student was bending slightly forward, probably giving Marcus an eyeful of her cleavage. Hermione silently huffed at the tasteless behaviour.  
  
“Yeah, according to some of my friends he is the nicest professor here,” Victoria said, smiling.  
  
That made Hermione frown even more. Hadn’t he told her he wasn’t nice at all? She glanced down at him again, and their eyes met for a second before he looked away. She blinked. Had there been hunger in his eyes?  
  
The class began again, and when it was finally over, Hermione’s head felt close to exploding after all the new knowledge was stuffed in there. Her shoulder and arm were aching from holding the pen so long. So, she was really looking forward to going home and taking a long, relaxing bath. However, when she was about to leave, Marcus called for her. She bid Victoria goodbye and turned towards the stage were Marcus was standing together with three other male students. One of them was Malfoy to Hermione’s annoyance. Yet, she went up there just the same.  
  
Marcus smiled at them. “You four are not taking this course full-time, and therefore, I don’t expect the essay to be handed in until next Friday. You should also know that you are not required to read all the books on the literature list this semester. I have made a selection, and you only have to read these now.” He handed them each a scroll. “This means that you don’t have to do all the assignments, like the next one I’ll be handing out, either. Are there any questions?”  
  
“Sir?” Malfoy asked. “Could I have a word in private about my … situation?”  
  
“Certainly. Anyone else?”  
  
Hermione and the other two shook their heads.  
  
“Until Friday, then,” Marcus said and dismissed them.   
  
Just before she turned to leave, he caught her eye again. For just one moment, she saw his desire, and it left her feeling a bit breathless. If he looked at the other women in class like that, she couldn’t blame them for looking at him. But she really hoped he didn’t.  
  
A bit reluctant, Hermione left. However, she had a feeling she wouldn’t have to wait to Friday until she saw him again.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Nerys and Serpent In Red for betaing the chapter.

**Chapter 9**  
  
Hermione was just about to make dinner for herself and Althea when there was a knock on the door. She instantly knew that it was Marcus, and the thought left her with both dread and excitement. When she opened the door, he quickly entered and shut it again. Then he pushed her up against the wall in her hall and kissed her heatedly. Hermione was too taken aback by his passionate display that she didn’t know what else to do but respond eagerly, and she was disappointed when he withdrew after just a minute.  
  
Why had she been so worried about his promise to have her again? She wanted this. She wanted to experience having sex with him again. At first, she hadn’t wanted him because she wanted them to get to know each other. Then, she had thought he was too boring for anything long-term and hadn’t wanted to lead him on. Now, however, he was attractive, just the right amount of nice, very passionate and interesting. And he wanted her. She had no reason to deny him or herself any longer.  
  
Marcus was still standing close to her, and as she tried to calm down from the kiss, he lifted his hand and used his thumb to stroke her swollen lips. She closed her eyes and repressed a moan at the tingle of pleasure his skin next to hers gave her.  
  
“I’ll have you tonight again. Understand?” he whispered huskily.  
  
Her eyes snapped open. He looked at her, and it was clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She nodded slowly. His kiss had made her whole body tingle more than usual and … well, for some reason, she didn’t feel like she would or could deny him anything right now. On a logical level, she knew it was ridiculous and that she was an independent woman who only had to do whatever she wanted. But another, bigger part of her wanted to roll over and show her submission. It was confusing and more than a little disturbing but … she would go with the latter.  
  
He smiled in triumph and took a step away from her. His hand travelled down her shoulder and stroked her arm before he grasped her hand and pulled her into the living room.  
  
“Now, what’s for dinner?” he asked in a much less sexy voice.  
  
“Pasta and sausages,” Hermione answered, still feeling a bit breathless but trying to collect her emotions and control her raging libido.  
  
He made a grimace. “Let me make a stew of the sausages.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Right then, Althea came out from the bedroom and squealed in delight upon seeing Marcus there. She ran towards him, and he captured her in his arms and lifted her up. They spoke quickly in Parseltongue to each other, and Hermione didn’t feel as left out as she usually did. Instead, she took the opportunity to slink into the bathroom. She inhaled deeply and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was bright red in excitement. That wouldn’t do. Just because they were having sex didn’t mean he had to know the full extent of her eagerness. He would only tease her, and she didn’t want that. Therefore, she splashed her face with some cold water before opening the cabinet behind the mirror.  
  
The last time they had had sex, Hermione had gone to the apothecary to get a Day-After Potion. There, she had seen that they sold normal contraceptive potions as well. One dose kept you covered for a month. Out of impulse, she had bought one. They could be stored for a whole year, and well … she had been realistic enough to know that she probably would want to have sex again within a year, and it was good to be covered.  
  
She uncorked it and drank the contents.  
  
It tasted disgusting. She grimaced and washed her mouth with water before she went out to the room again, feeling a bit calmer. Marcus was standing at the stove, preparing dinner, and Althea was sitting on one of the wooden kitchen chairs, looking at him with interest.  
  
“What have you two been talking about?” she asked, hoping she sounded somewhat casual.  
  
“Althea stated that I’m a better cook than you,” Marcus replied smugly.  
  
“You are.”   
  
She had no problem admitting this. Even though she usually hated admitting being bad at something, she had come to terms with the fact that cooking just wasn’t her thing. Potions she was fine with, but only if she had the precise recipe in front of her. Cooking was the same. She could follow the recipe, but they were usually not that precise, and it was more luck than skills when she managed to create something good. Hence, she kept to the easier things.  
  
Marcus, on the other hand, didn’t seem to bother with a recipe at all. He just threw in a little of this and that, and it turned out spectacular. She wasn’t that courageous when it came to cooking. Creating spells and new theories was one thing, cooking something else. However, it was unfair that he seemed to be so good at both.  
  
They sat down at the table and started to eat. Althea used Parseltongue to speak with Marcus, but he answered her in English, probably for Hermione’s sake.  
  
“Do you like this Miss Cooper, then?” Marcus asked Althea as he sliced up a piece of sausage.  
  
Althea nodded and then hissed something.  
  
“She hadn’t heard of the Grimm brothers?” Marcus asked, amused. “I hope you enlightened her.”  
  
Another nod came from Althea. Hermione ate in silence, having no problem just watching her daughter interact with Marcus. It was nice to see her so talkative, even though Hermione couldn’t understand her. Hermione didn’t want to interrupt her since she felt sorry for her daughter. Althea rarely had the chance to talk this much with anyone. Besides, Althea was usually the first to finish, and after that, Hermione would have Marcus all to herself.  
  
She felt some wetness forming between her legs and crossed them. Merlin, she had never felt this wanton before. Perhaps it was good Althea was still here. Otherwise, Hermione wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her hands off him before dinner was finished.  
  
“Yes, I have actually read _Little Red Riding Hood_ , and I felt sorry for the wolf as well,” Marcus said just then. Hermione looked up at him when he added: “He was just hungry for the little girl and couldn’t help himself.”  
  
Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation and tried not to blush when he glanced over at her. Thankfully, his attention was quickly pulled back to Althea when she hissed something again.  
  
He let out a bark of laughter. “No, I don’t think your mother would be all too pleased if you brought a wolf home as a pet.”  
  
Hermione snorted as well.  
  
Not soon after that, Althea looked up at her mother. “Can I go and play?”  
  
“Of course, Althea. But don’t forget to thank Marcus for the dinner,” Hermione said with a smile.  
  
“Scank you for dinner,” Althea said.   
  
She still had trouble with some sounds in English and “th-” was definitely one of them. It turned into a hiss instead.  
  
“You are most welcome,” Marcus said, and Althea left the table and went to the bedroom.  
  
Hermione suddenly felt a little shy and didn’t know what to say. She looked down at her plate and rearranged the food that was still there.  
  
“What did you think about the lesson?” Marcus asked casually after a short moment.   
  
He wasn’t talking like they would have sex again later, and it made her relax enough to look up at him again.  
  
“It was interesting,” she admitted. “I had read most of the theories you explained before, but it’s always interesting to hear a new point of view.”  
  
Marcus chuckled. “Interesting as in ‘I can’t believe how clever he is’ or ‘all he says is rubbish but I have to be polite’?”  
  
She laughed, feeling the tension in her stomach lessen. “A bit of both. I can’t say I agree with your view of the Polonius Anomaly, but—”  
  
“Oh, please, don’t say you are a follower of McCaine’s ridiculous explanation!”  
  
“I think McCaine’s explanation of the Anomaly is very reasonable. We did a test of it back in Australia and …” She went into a long explanation about the result of the test while Marcus did his best to point out all the faults of it. They only took a short break to put Althea in bed, and that break gave Hermione time to collect her thoughts. When they started again, after putting a silencing spell around the bedroom, she managed to point out where he lacked in his reasoning.  
  
“… and therefore, it’s irrelevant whether you add the extra twist of the wrist or not when performing the spell because the change in the spell will make it work!” she said in triumph, stopping right in front of him.   
  
She had been pacing while talking, needing to vent out the annoyance she felt when he crushed her defences. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem upset at all. He had been sitting in the couch the whole time with an air of nonchalance around him. Now, however, his eyes narrowed, and she could see that he was thinking hard. Then, his face broke into a smile.   
  
“Merlin, you are sexy when you argue.”  
  
She let out a small squeal when he pulled her down in his lap and started to snog her. Hermione answered him with a vengeance. The argument had made her all hot and bothered as well. Knowing that she was right also made this so much sweeter. Of course, it would be even sweeter if he admitted it. Perhaps if she…  
  
He used his nails to scratch lightly on her back under her shirt. It sent shivers of pleasure right down to her sex. What was it she had just been thinking? Couldn’t have been important.  
  
She moved her pelvis over his lap and could feel that he was hard underneath her. Why did it feel so nice to have him touch her? He began to trail kisses down her throat, and she moved her own hands up to his hair and ran her fingers through the soft texture. He acted like he was as horny as she was, but what did he really think about it? Did he like it as much as she did? She wanted to know …  
  
Passion overwhelmed her. All of a sudden, she wanted to touch every little part of skin that was in front of her. She wanted to taste, touch and completely control ever single part of—  
  
Her eyes flew open, and she saw herself sitting on top of him. No … she didn’t see it … _he_ saw it.  
  
The moment she realised that she was, in fact, seeing herself from his eyes, she was pushed back into her own body. She blinked a couple of times, disoriented. Then she let out another squeal when she was thrown on her back into the couch with him on top of her. The tip of a wand was pressed into her throat.  
  
“What did you do?” he asked, furious.  
  
She breathed quickly. “I don’t know! I’ve never … I just … I think I was inside you.”  
  
The wand dug deeper into her skin. “So I felt. How?”  
  
“I have no idea! I was just enjoying the kiss and wondering if you were, too.”   
  
She bit her lip. Perhaps that was it? But she didn’t have that kind of power. Or she hadn’t had it before. Maybe it had to do with the touching thing?  
  
He seemed to have reached the same conclusion because he suddenly sat up and stopped touching her skin. It made her feel empty somehow. His eyes were filled with agony as he looked down at her.  
  
“What is the matter?” she asked, worried and confused. Why did she want him to touch her so much?  
  
He rose from her. “I should go.”  
  
“What?” she asked in disbelief and got up as well.  
  
“We don’t know what this is, Hermione,” he said forcefully. “It could be dangerous!”  
  
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she hissed, anger exploding within her. “You don’t just get to decide that we shall have sex and then take it back! I was the one not wanting this in the first place, but you insisted and—” She took a deep breath so her anger wouldn’t make her admit what kind of power he had over her. “If you run away like a scared puppy now, then that is it. I don’t need this confusion in my life. I want someone who doesn’t have a personality change every other second!”  
  
He let out a growl and stalked back to her, gripping her hair and tilted her head upwards. Her hand fisted around his shirt, and she stared up at him firmly, the anger raging inside her. She didn’t hear the words being uttered, but she could feel him entering her mind and see her memories of the evening flash before her eyes. After he had seen what she had experienced in his mind, he withdrew, and she could feel his satisfaction. For what, she couldn’t tell.  
  
“You won’t do that ever again,” he established slowly.  
  
“I didn’t plan to,” she hissed. “And it’s not nice using Legilimency on some—”  
  
He silenced her with a kiss. It was slower, but with the same pleasure as before. Just like that, her anger was washed away and replaced with need. The electric jolts his touch sent through her body made her shiver, and he had to half-carry her back to the couch. Once she was on her back, he started to kiss his way down her chin and throat. She closed her eyes, her body trembling every time his mouth touched her. His fingers worked to unbutton her shirt, and his mouth followed, tasting every new piece of skin. Just like she knew he wanted to do.  
  
She opened her eyes a little and looked down at him. Never would she have guessed how strongly he felt for her. Sure, he had told her, but it was something else to experience it. It was both a relief to know that he did like her, but at the same time, it was quite scary. She didn’t even know if she were capable of feeling so strongly for anyone else. What would he do if she couldn’t meet his strong feelings? It wouldn’t be the first time someone left her because she didn’t return their feelings. Okay, so she didn’t think Ron had loved her, but in their last fight, he had claimed the reason he had gone to Lavender instead was because she didn’t return his feelings.  
  
Then again, there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind that what she had felt when she was inside of Marcus wasn’t love. It was more … primal. Perhaps she shouldn’t think so much about what her feelings were. Perhaps she should just give in. She didn’t just want him. She needed him.  
  
Her thoughts came to a stop altogether when he reached her breasts. He moved the bra away and started to suck her nipple. It made her clit ache to be touched, and so she moved her legs from underneath him and tilted her hips upwards, coming in contact with his hardness.  
  
He stopped his movements and looked up at her. His eyes were dark with arousal. “Enough foreplay.”  
  
It wasn’t a question, but Hermione nodded anyway. He vanished their clothes with his wand, and one of his hands travelled down between her legs. Their eyes were locked together as he thrusted two fingers inside of her. It stung a little as he stretched her sex. She was, however, very wet and stretchable, and the pleasure of having him inside her soon overwhelmed her. Her head fell back, and she closed her eyes, missing his satisfied smirk. He withdrew his fingers, and she was about to complain, but in the next second, she could feel something much larger at her entrance. One finger stroked her clit, and her moan turned into a gasp when he entered her.  
  
It was much slower than the last time they had done it, but the pulsing of pleasure and magic swirling around inside her body was the same. She wrapped her legs around his back and pressed him down towards her, making him sink even deeper inside of her.  
  
For a moment, they just lay there, breathing hard. The magic was dancing over her body. His tongue came out at her neck, licking it. It was more than Hermione could take, and the orgasm was somewhat surprising when it washed over her.  
  
He groaned when she tightened around him, and he began to push in and out of her. Hermione hardly remembered to breathe as he moved. Every time he did, it felt like she was washed over with a brilliant wave of magic. Her hand fell down from his back and right next to his. Their fingers interlaced as he moved his hand on top of hers.  
  
He started to move faster and harder, and his other hand found its way down between them and manipulated her clit again. She screamed out her second release and disappeared from her own body. Instead, she fell into his again but this time, he didn’t notice. He was too busy controlling the pleasure he was feeling from being inside her. Hermione didn’t understand why he was controlling himself until she heard the chanting. He didn’t speak it out loud but inside his mind. She didn’t recognise the words, but she could feel what it did to him. It filled him with magic unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was wild and wonderful, and she … no, _he_ craved it more than anything.  
  
When it reached its peak, he came, and she fell back into her own body again. She could still feel magic all around her skin, but it was nothing like what he had gathered inside his body. She closed her eyes, not wanting him to see how troubled she was. She had read about the phenomena. Wizards and witches stole magical energy from things that created a lot of magic. The magic was usually created from very intense practise by magical creatures like fairy dance or salamanders making fire. She had never heard about creating magic through sex. It wasn’t necessarily dark magic since it didn’t have to hurt anyone, but it could be. And since he was stealing it … or maybe not stealing it, he was after all taking a part in creating it. But so was she! Shouldn’t he have asked her if she wanted her share?  
  
She thought back to what she had felt in his mind. Realisation hit her. He didn’t care. Hermione took a deep breath, not wanting him to notice her anger. That must be why he was so concerned about her entering his mind. He didn’t want her finding out. He was only using her to get stronger!  
  
No.   
  
That wasn’t the whole truth, she realised when she remembered what she had felt the first time she’d been inside his mind. He did want _her_. It wasn’t just the magic. He wanted her more than she wanted him, and yet … he didn’t mind taking advantage of her.  
  
Well, he hadn’t been lying when he had said he wasn’t nice. This wasn’t nice of him at all.  
  
Then came the next realisation. He hadn’t hurt her or drained any energy from her personally. So, it wasn’t dark magic. Also, he was, after all, taking part in creating it, and thus, it couldn’t be called stealing per se. A nicer man would probably have asked if she were okay with it, but she didn’t want a nicer man. Instead, she wanted him. He was controversial, sneaky and clever, but at least, she knew that now. She didn’t need to look at this as a break of her trust in him. It was more intriguing than hurtful, really. Why didn’t he tell her? Did he have a secret? In that case, she couldn’t wait to find out. However, she didn’t think confronting him would work. Instead, she would just have to be as sneaky as he was.  
  
She smiled, her anger disappearing fully to be replaced with excitement. Suddenly, her life didn’t seem so boring anymore. It was like the good old days before the war ended. When everything had been a mystery and an adventure. She would figure him out; she was sure of it.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort felt high on magic. It took him several minutes to recover after he’d got his orgasm. Salazar, she was exquisite. What had he been so worried about? Feeling this powerful was worth anything.  
  
He tilted his head up and saw that she was already conscious again. She seemed to have blacked out for a while. He chuckled at the memory. He hadn’t felt this happy since … well, since the last time they had sex. And then he hadn’t been able to collect the magic; instead, it had flown out and caused a lot of explosions.  
  
He readjusted his body so he wasn’t crushing her anymore. Her fingers travelled over his back and to his face. He shivered with pleasure. No one had touched him like she did. He had never allowed it before.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asked and bit her finger lightly when it came to his mouth.  
  
She smiled. “Excellent. Kiss me.”  
  
He was happy to oblige. The kiss was much lazier than the ones before, but he didn’t mind. He had got what he wanted and didn’t mind giving her what she wanted. Lord Voldemort always rewarded those who pleased him. After a moment, she broke the kiss by sighing.  
  
“I need to pee,” she stated, looking a bit embarrassed.  
  
“Very well,” he accepted and sat up, pulling her with him.  
  
After giving him another quick kiss, she hurried into the bathroom. Voldemort stayed on the couch for a short moment before he stood up as well. He was feeling peckish. Chocolate would be nice. What woman didn’t have chocolate at home?  
  
After a couple of minutes of looking through the pantry, he realised that Hermione was, in fact, a woman who didn’t have any chocolate at home. Pouting, he went to the freezer and found ice-cream. It was plain vanilla, but he had seen some cacao powder in the pantry. A quick spell later and he had chocolate ice cream. Wonderful!  
  
Hermione came out again, wearing a dressing gown. She arched an eyebrow when she saw him standing at the kitchen table, enjoying himself.  
  
“What?” he asked and licked his lips clean. “I like chocolate after sex.”  
  
She huffed and went up to him. “You could, at least, have made me some.”  
  
He shrugged, and with another spell, she got a bowl as well. It wasn’t like he wanted to share his.  
  
Hermione jumped up on the kitchen table and began eating as well. “Will you sleep here?” she asked, slowly licking the ice cream off the spoon.   
  
He watched the way her tongue moved and concluded that he would want her to give him a blow job sometime in the nearby future.  
  
“If you want me to,” he replied with a shrug.   
  
Sure, he wouldn’t get any sleep because, well, that was ridiculous. Like he would ever lower his guard so much that he would _sleep_ near another person. But when she woke up, they might have sex again and _that_ he wanted. In fact, in another fifteen minutes, he would probably be up for it again.  
  
“I don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully. “I haven’t slept in the same bed with anyone since I was little. Well, except with Althea, but she is a very quiet sleeper so I hardly notice her.”  
  
He chuckled. “I can’t say I find sleeping together that interesting. It’s just sleeping after all. Waking up may be a bit more pleasurable than usual, though.” He gave her a naughty wink.  
  
She frowned. “Althea sleeps in there as well.”  
  
“And with a little spell, she won’t notice a thing,” he reassured her before he swallowed the last of the ice cream and placed the bowl in the sink, washing it off.  
  
“I always forget that you were also raised by Muggles,” Hermione suddenly commented  
  
He frowned. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“Well, sometimes, you do things the Muggle way. Not often but … well, like just now. I do it, too, since I was raised by Muggles, and I’ve heard that it gives me away.”  
  
His frown increased. He hadn’t noted that she was so observant. Well, he hadn’t hidden the fact that he was a half-blood. It was an excellent cover story. No one would ever think Lord Voldemort would admit that he was a half-blood after all.   
  
“Well, you know that I was. However, I did leave that world once I was of age.”  
  
“Yes. After you father died, right?” she asked with a frown and placed her bowl next to her on the table.  
  
He nodded. “Around that time, yes.”  
  
“And you still have no idea who your mother is?” she asked.  
  
He shrugged. “No. I don’t really care. She made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with us, and thus, I don’t want anything to do with her. But I try not to dwell on the past too much.”  
  
When he saw that she seemed to want to ask more, he stepped closer to her. The fewer things he said, the easier it would be to remember his lies in the future. Besides, he could think of a lot of more pleasant things to do than make up lies about his past. He began to finger the rope tying her dressing gown  together.   
  
“You shouldn’t wear clothes.”  
  
“Unfortunately, society demands it,” she replied dryly.   
  
Yet, she let him open her dressing gown and touch her body again, apparently letting go of the previous subject.  
  
He hadn’t really taken his time to appreciate her perfect body. It wasn’t flawless per se, but the flaws made it more interesting. Like the faint purple scar running between her breasts.  
  
“What happened?” he asked before he leaned down and kissed the line.  
  
“A Death Eater called Dolohov cursed me when I was sixteen,” she replied, shuddering slightly when his lips came in contact with her skin.  
  
Ah, the prophesy incident.   
  
He was surprised Dolohov hadn’t done more than just cursing her but glad as well. Women Dolohov had played with were usually very reluctant to ever play again. Then again, she probably had had Potter protecting her. Well, the boy was doomed to do something right once in a while.   
  
“He is dead now, right?” Voldemort asked, continuing to kiss down her stomach.   
  
Of course, he was perfectly aware that Dolohov was dead, but it was not something a mere university professor was supposed to keep in mind. After all, a lot of Death Eaters had died or gone to prison after the war, and if he showed that he knew the state of every Death Eater, she would definitely become suspicious.   
  
“Yes. He died at the battle at Hogwarts.” She leaned back on her elbows.  
  
He kissed her smooth stomach which showed no evidence of bearing a child. Every time he kissed her, it felt like small jolts of magic connected with his lips and travelled down his spine to his groin. Even though he was still feeling content and filled with magic, he could feel himself getting hard again. He reached her legs and kissed his way down her left thigh. Her breathing increased as he neared his goal. She was already dripping wet, and he decided to do a little test on how responsive she could be. Pushing her legs further apart, he aimed his magic and pushed it into her cunt at the same time as he captured her clit with his mouth. It made the pleasure that she always felt when they were touching increase tenfold.  
  
Hermione let out a small scream and fell back on the table. Apparently, she responded rather easily. He chuckled into her cunt, sending vibrations through it. She tasted surprisingly good. Perhaps that had to do with the fact that she was his Soul Mate? He needed to start researching it again. Even though the thought had crossed him a couple of times in the past months, it just hadn’t seemed very important. However, it was very worrisome that she had been able to enter his body like that. But now was not the time to think about that. He turned to the task at hand.  
  
When she was thrashing around like crazy and moaning wantonly, he rose and pulled her to the edge of the table. With one quick movement, he was inside her again for the second time that night.  
  
Oh, Salazar, he never wanted to leave.  
  
This was why the Soul Mate issue hadn’t bothered him so much. How could anything that made him feel this good and powerful be bad for him? As she tightened around him, he pushed his magic into her body, controlling her, keeping her at the edge of her orgasm until he was there as well. He wanted to feel her muscles tighten around him as he came.  
  
“Oh, Merlin, please, I need to come!” Hermione groaned, her nails scratching the surface of the table.  
  
“Patience is a virtue, Hermione,” he reminded her, letting his magic run to every sensitive zone in her body.  
  
“Fuck,” she sobbed, grinding her hips against his.  
  
“I am,” he replied, thrusting deeply into her.  
  
He was at the brink of climaxing when he released her. Once he allowed the orgasm to wash over her, she let out a short scream before her body stilled under him. When he came back down from the high, he saw her lying unconscious on the kitchen table. He smirked. It was good that she had no trouble trusting him with her body. The sooner she learned that he was in charge, the better for both of them. He got his fill of power, and she got to have sex with him. All was well.  
  
Sighing happily, he pulled out of her and cleaned up the mess they had made on the table with his wand. Then he lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. It looked like he was going to “sleep” here after all.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge amount of cookies to my lovely betas, Nerys and Serpent In Red.

**Chapter 10**  
  
Hermione didn’t remember going to bed or falling asleep. The last thing she remembered was being on the edge of the best orgasm of her life but not managing to achieve it. She had felt like something or someone was stopping her, and she had a pretty good idea who it was.  
  
Turning around in the bed, her eyes fell on the sleeping individual next to her. The blanket was down at his waist, and for the first time, she got a good look of his broad chest. His nipples were dark, and he was surprisingly hairless. Perhaps he shaved? He didn’t have any marked muscles, but his stomach was quite flat and pale.   
  
Merlin, he was sexy.  
  
She reached out to stroke his arm. He grabbed her hand hard, opened his eyes and looked around, bewildered. Then his eyes finally fell on her. She smiled reassuringly, thinking he must only be disoriented when he let go of her hand like it were a poisonous snake. She frowned, confused.  
  
“I must have fallen asleep,” he muttered and rubbed his hands over his face.  
  
“Yeah, you usually do that at night,” she remarked dryly, wondering why he sounded so surprised.  
  
He didn’t reply because a three-and-a-half-year-old took that opportunity to climb in bed with them.  
  
“Mum,” Althea complained. “Not sleep, food!”  
  
Hermione was about to rise when she felt a horrible soreness in her muscles, especially at her belly, thighs and sex. She fell to her back again.  
  
Marcus seemed to understand what she felt because he sat up instead.  
  
“Why don’t you go to the kitchen and find what you would like to have in your porridge. I’ll be there shortly to make it for you,” he suggested, probably speaking in English for Hermione’s benefit.  
  
Althea, however, didn’t seem too fond of that idea. “Hungry now.”  
  
Marcus hissed something in Parseltongue, suddenly sounding much less patient. Althea’s eyes filled with tears. She let out a small hiss and ran away. Marcus sighed.  
  
“What did you say?” Hermione asked, shocked and a little angry that he would make Althea cry.  
  
“Never mind,” Marcus growled and rolled out of bed. With a flick of his wand, he was dressed again.  
  
“Tell me what you told my daughter!” Hermione demanded, getting angrier.   
  
Like any mother, she did not want to see her daughter cry, but it was the fact that he wouldn’t tell her what he had said that angered her the most.  
  
“ _Our_ daughter,” Marcus reminded her and made a wand movement Hermione recognised as a Silencing Spell. “And I told her to follow her parents’ orders.”  
  
Hermione scowled at him. Ignoring the soreness in her muscles, she rolled out of bed as well. Her legs did not feel very happy to carry her this morning, which only made her mood worse.  
  
“You can’t just say that! You have to earn her respect.”   
  
She found her dressing gown thrown over the chair at the other side of the room and wrapped it around her.  
  
“Earn her respect ...? Hermione, she is a child! She doesn’t even know what respect is.”  
  
“Yes, she does. I didn’t realise you had such old-fashioned views of children.”  
  
“Well, better that than to have no idea at all what to do with them.”  
  
It stung. A lot. Hermione pressed her lips together, forcing herself not to start crying. Sure, she didn’t know exactly how to raise her daughter, but Althea didn’t seem to require a lot of parenting. She was just glad they had a connection now. And she was trying to be a better mother, something he was well aware of. Why would he say something like that? Just to be mean? It disappointed her greatly.  
  
“I don’t need to take this from you,” she finally replied coldly. “You didn’t even know you had a daughter three months ago.”  
  
His eyes narrowed. “And whose fault was that?”  
  
“Yours! You left me that morning. I only knew your first name! I tried finding you, but I couldn’t.”  
  
He crossed his arms. “If I had stayed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all because I would never have forgotten to remind you to take a contraceptive.”  
  
Hermione just stared at him, horrified over what he was suggesting. “Leave now.”  
  
“Look, Hermione, I didn’t mean …”  
  
Her wand came flying into her hand, and she aimed it at him. “NOW!”  
  
He almost looked amused by the sight of her wand. He raised his eyebrow in a “Do you even know what to do with that?” look, while his lips curled into a patronising smile.  
  
That made her temper fly through the roof. Without having a specific spell in mind, she flicked her wand and sent him flying through the window. A great crash was heard when the glass shattered but not the thud of someone smashing into the ground below. He probably Apparated away or used some sort of cushion spell. He was an excellent wizard after all.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath.   
  
Okay, so that might have been overreacting a bit. But who did he think he was, talking to her like that? Growling, she repaired the window. She knew that this would come back and bite her in the arse later, but she didn’t want to worry about it now. At least she had made her point clear. He couldn’t talk to her or Althea like that. If he ever wanted to see her again, he should learn that. Fast.  
  
Did she want to see him again?   
  
The thought made her pause. He had made her feel so incredibly good last night. He had intrigued her, and she had been excited by the thought of getting to know him better. Now, all she felt was disappointment and hurt. Perhaps it would lessen with time? She decided not to think about it until later. Right now, she had a daughter that needed breakfast and probably some comfort. Yes, she would focus on making Althea feel better for now instead of thinking about the man who had got so deep under her skin.

 

xxx

  
Althea was sad. Marcus had been so mean to her, telling her she was disturbing them and should go away. She had just been hungry! Thankfully, Mum had come out soon after and made breakfast. Althea quickly forgot how mean Marcus had been and went to the bedroom to play.  
  
Her black, little friend was there waiting for her when she came in.  
  
“ _Your mother and father have been doing very naughty things_ ,” her friend told her.  
  
Althea frowned. “ _Did they eat cookies before dinner_?” she asked. Her grandma had always told her that was naughty.  
  
“ _Worse,_ ” her friend muttered. “ _They had sex_.”  
  
“ _Sex_?”   
  
Althea thought hard. She was sure she had heard about it somewhere before.  
  
“ _Sex is when you are hugging and kissing naked_ ,” her friend explained.  
  
“ _Oh._ ”   
  
Althea nodded but still wasn’t sure why it was such a bad thing. She had a feeling kissing was good, even though it looked a little disgusting. She didn’t get the point of pressing one’s mouths against each other like H and Gin did.  
  
“ _Does it mean Dad is Mum’s boyfriend now_?” Althea asked. She definitely remembered a boyfriend was someone you kissed.  
  
Her black, little friend was slithering back and forth over the floor. Suddenly, it stopped in front of her.   
  
“ _Maybe. But it is not right for_ _your mother to make him her boyfriend unless she knows the truth about him. You know that truths are fun, right?_ ”  
  
Althea nodded. Her friend had told her all about truths and how much fun they could be if you told them at the right time.  
  
“ _Have you heard about Voldemort, Althea_?” the black snake asked with a purr.  
  
Althea shook her head, wondering what on earth a Voldemort could be.  
  
“ _You should ask your mother about Voldemort. Then,_ _you should ask her what Voldemort has to do with Marcus. Do you want to do that_?”  
  
Althea, always eager to learn new things, nodded. “ _Okay_.”  
  
She went back to the kitchen where her mother was cleaning up after breakfast. Hermione was brushing quite frenetically at one particular spot on the kitchen table.  
  
“Mum?”  
  
“Yes, sweet?” Hermione dropped the brush with a grimace and then rubbed her back as she straightened up.  
  
“What’s a Voldemort?”  
  
Hermione blinked and arched an eyebrow. “Where did you hear that name?”  
  
Althea shrugged. “Friend told.”  
  
Hermione frowned, but then she shrugged as if it didn’t matter whom Althea was referring to. She went over to the sitting area and was about to sit down in the couch. For some reason, she changed her mind about sitting there and sank down in an armchair instead. Althea followed and climbed up on the coffee table.  
  
“Voldemort is a very bad wizard,” Hermione explained and reached for one of the big books she tended to look at for hours.   
  
Althea had once made the mistake of asking Hermione to read out loud from it. Althea had found it awfully boring _._  
  
“What do Marcus do witsch Voldemort?”  
  
Hermione’s eyebrows were almost at her hairline. “Marcus doesn’t have anything to do with Voldemort. Who told you that?”  
  
“Friend,” Althea reminded her mother, who was obviously starting to get old and forget things.  
  
Hermione looked at her strangely. “Who is this friend?”  
  
“Schadow friend.” Althea stated. She knew her mother sometimes had a hard time understanding obvious things, but Althea was patient with her.  
  
Hermione still didn’t seem to understand. “Well, then you can tell your shadow friend that Marcus has absolutely nothing to do with Voldemort.”   
  
However, as she said it, a small frown appeared between her eyebrows. But then Hermione shook her head and, with a sigh, began staring at her book.

 

xxx

  
Needless to say, Voldemort was not very pleased with his little Mudblood. Of course it hadn’t been a problem for him to Apparate away before he reached the ground, but he did not appreciate being thrown out a window. At first, he had been about to storm into her flat and teach her a lesson she would not soon forget. But then he had realised that it would definitely blow his cover, and he had managed to restrain himself. He would get to her in due time.  
  
When it was time for his next lecture at Friday, he had come up with a perfect plan. He would show her who the most powerful wizard was in the most subtle way. It would be a way where she was put in her place, and no one would be able to say he had done something outside the rules.  
  
“Duelling,” he said to the class sitting in front of him in the same lecture hall he always had.   
  
He had already removed the desk and was standing alone on the big stage. There was a reason this particular classroom had a stage. Transfiguration was to be shown.  
  
“What sort of spells would you expect to see in a duel?”  
  
Several hands came up. Not Hermione’s. Ah, he would have his chance with her later. He pointed at a young man sitting in the front row.   
  
“Hexes, jinxes, protecting spells …” was the answer he got.  
  
“Yes,” Voldemort said, nodding. “Not so much Transfiguration. How come?”  
  
A brunette got to answer. “Because in an official duel, you are only allowed to do magic on yourself, your opponent or the air in between, so you only have humans to transfigure. And human transfiguration is very difficult.”  
  
“Correct. And this is true for your standard wizard. You are not, however, standard wizards. You are postgraduates in Transfiguration, and a part of your education is to be able to do human transfiguration. Therefore, I’ve decided to introduce you to it right away. I want you to get the feel of it.”   
  
A swoon of worry was heard through the class. Voldemort smiled. It would soon get a lot worse.   
  
“You have ten minutes to look up what sort of transfiguration you wish to try, and then, I’ll start duelling you one by one.”  
  
There was a rattle all around as the students dug into their bags for their books. Voldemort waited. He let his eyes wander over the class and saw Hermione mouthing a spell. He would show that little bitch that Lord Voldemort was not one to be thrown out a window lightly.   
  
When the ten minutes were up, he told them to stop and pack away the books.   
  
“This will be a practical lesson. At first, I’ll duel you personally to test your abilities. I highly doubt any one of you will be able to actually hit me, but it’ll determine what level you are on. Then, if there is time, I’ll divide you into pairs and you’ll practice on each other. Remember, you are only allowed to use Transfiguration and Protecting Shields.”   
  
He removed his wand from his holster. “Now, any volunteers?”  
  
Many hands flew up. A lot of them were from female students who would probably let him do a fair deal more than hex them if he wanted to. However, he was only interested in Hermione, and she hadn’t volunteered. Instead, she was staring at him through narrowed eyes. Was she suspecting something already? That was no fun. He wanted to humiliate her first. But he would have his chance in due time.  
  
The students were easy to defeat. The longest anyone lasted before he managed to turn them into something else was four minutes, and that was only due to a ridiculously strong shield. Every time he transfigured a student back, he snickered at them inside his mind, while keeping the façade of an understanding teacher up. Then, it was finally her time.  
  
Hermione stepped up on the stage with a firm grip on her wand. They bowed to each other, and he allowed her to try to attack first, like he had done with the others. However, she didn’t. Instead, she just stood there, watching him with her wand out. Shrugging, he attacked … and had to throw himself at the ground when the spell bounced back at him. None of the others had thought about making a Bouncing Shield.  
  
He had to roll away when she fired her own spell, but he quickly made it to his feet and fired three spells in a row. Her shield deflected them, and she managed to fire one of her own. It missed him, and he managed to shoot a spell at her before she put up a new shield. She jumped to the side, stumbled over her own feet and fell. He mercilessly cast his final spell and turned her into a small, brown mouse.  
  
Mouse-Hermione started to peep and squeak as she ran around on the ground.  
  
“Now, now, Miss Granger, you have to stand still so I can reverse the spell properly,” he said and fired at her.   
  
She ran away, causing him to miss. He smirked; he must look very scary from her point of view. Most people seemed to panic when they were transfigured into something that small. He conjured a mousetrap right in front of her instead, and it trapped her. He could hear some people in the class laugh.  
  
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have transfigured you into something so small and quick,” he thought out loud when he reached into the mousetrap and lifted the transfigured girl by the tail.   
  
She tried to struggle her way free. More laughing was heard. He was actually sorry he had to transfigure her back. She was much more manageable in this state. So very much at his power. She would not forget that feeling in a long time; he would make sure of that. Neither would some of her classmates if he knew them correctly. Oh, yes, being humiliated in school was definitely the way to go to punish Miss Know-It-All Granger.  
  
He smirked and fired the reversal hex. Hermione fell down on the ground with a squeak as she was transformed back to her normal self. She looked up at him, trying to make a scowl, but he could see tears in the corner of her eyes. She stood up, rubbing her behind. He smiled innocently at her, and she stalked back to her own seat, her face red in mortification. He felt very satisfied.

 

xxx

  
Hermione had never felt so humiliated. Her only consolation was that everyone in the class was transfigured into something today. Although, she was the only one who turned into a mouse and the only one to get caught in a mousetrap. Then again, she had managed to last longer than the others against him. That had to count for something. He was awfully good with the wand … no pun intended. She sighed and watched as the next person was turned into a lamp.  
  
It showed how pitiful he was, taking his revenge on her in class because she was sure it was pure revenge that made him do it. He had looked way too pleased when he had turned her back. More than he should have had if this had been strictly a Transfiguration lesson. He had enjoyed tormenting her.  
  
Up until now, she had thought that they could talk about the “throwing-out-a-window” incident once their feelings had cooled down. However, now, she doubted it. He had told her he wasn’t nice, and now, he had also shown it. Humiliating her in front of the entire class was something she would have expected from Snape, not from him.  
  
She doubted they could make it work again after this. The thought made her heart ache. She had really thought they had something special. Not only the touching thing, but on a spiritual plane as well. They could talk about so many things in ways she had never experienced with anyone before. She highly doubted she would find anyone as passionate as him. Or as handsome.  
  
Cursing herself for thinking like a lovesick girl, she turned her attention back to the stage just as Malfoy stepped onto it. What was he doing here? Was he in the class or not? Perhaps she should make it her project to find out now since she had to forget about Marcus?  
  
When the duel began, she frowned. When had Malfoy got so good at duelling? Although, Marcus was, of course, better. He moved with a grace she had seldom seen before. Even when he was throwing himself on the floor, it looked like had planned doing that from the start. He was controlled and vicious in his attacks. Maybe a bit too vicious. Maybe he didn’t like Malfoy either? Damn, just when she had decided he was not worth it, he would go and show another thing they had in common.  
  
Nonetheless, she was pleased when Marcus got Malfoy and turned him into a … ferret. Hermione couldn’t hold back a giggle and neither could Victoria who was sitting next to her. Malfoy-the-bouncing-ferret had been famous at Hogwarts her fourth year. Everyone who had been there had known about it. Although, how come Marcus knew about it? It couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it?  
  
When she saw the smug and knowing smile on Marcus’s face, she decided that it wasn’t a coincidence. But where had he heard that story? He hadn’t been at Hogwarts, and she doubted Malfoy Senior had allowed the story to spread very far outside the school. Then again, Marcus always seemed to be quite aware of what had happened at Hogwarts, even though he had never attended the school himself. It was a bit strange, really.  
  
Victoria was next, but she got transfigured after only two minutes. Grimacing, she returned to the seat next to Hermione.   
  
“Boy, that was rough.”  
  
Hermione could only nod in agreement. The next opponent was also fairly good. Once again, Hermione found herself looking more at Marcus’s excellent technique than at what the opponent did wrong. It was like he was dancing. She had no doubt he would be able to defend himself against several people at once …  
  
A memory flashed in her mind. It was from the final battle. She had just cursed some Death Eater and was looking around to see if one of her friends needed help. Her eyes had landed on the duelling in the middle of the room. Voldemort had been holding off four people, even managing to hit one. She remembered herself thinking that it was unfair. He moved like he was dancing, not even breaking a sweat.  
  
She shook her head, frowning and looking at the duel again just in time to see the next student turn into a goat. It was silly. Althea must have placed the thought in her mind. Why else would she be comparing Marcus to Voldemort now? The thought had never crossed her mind before. What on earth did sexy and yet annoying and dominating Marcus have in common with Voldemort? Well, except for the fact that they were both Parselmouths. And had grown up among Muggles. And had sudden mood swings. And were extraordinarily clever and powerful. And control-freaks ...  
  
She smiled nervously.   
  
No. It couldn’t be. That was just ridiculous! Why was she even thinking about this? Voldemort would never have slept with her the night after he had got defeated. He would have killed her for sure, not sleep with her, make her pregnant and leave. And he would certainly not try to be a father to Althea or be such a good cook. Voldemort was a soulless, evil creature! No soulless, evil creature created that good a lasagne or read bedtime stories to children. Did they?  
  
Right then, Marcus had to duck. It seemed like another student besides her knew how to make shields that bounced back spells.  
  
Ducking from a bouncing spell.  
  
As if the scene in front of her had been a movie, she saw him duck again and remembered another fight four years ago when the Killing Curse had bounced back and a certain Dark Lord had managed to avoid it by ducking in that exact same way.  
  
Oh. Bloody. Hell.

 

xxx

  
When Voldemort transfigured the last of his students into a chair and back again, he turned to the class.  
  
“Very good, all of you. As those of you with watches can see, we only have fifteen minutes left of today’s class and that’s too little time to start duelling among each other.”   
  
Why on earth did Hermione look like he had suddenly grown an extra dragon’s head that was about to kill her?   
  
“Therefore, I’ll let you leave early today,  but don’t get used to my amiability. Have a nice weekend.”  
  
He watched Hermione with a frown as she hurriedly pulled all her things together. Even from where he was standing, he could see her hands shake. Their eyes met as she stood up. She looked at him with agony, disbelief and fear. No one had looked at him like that since …  
  
No, she couldn’t possibly have found out. He had been so careful!  
  
However, he couldn’t deny that something had shaken her greatly. Even if she hadn’t found out his secret, he wanted to know what was up with her. If she had found him out, he would have to … talk her out of telling anyone else or possibly kill her, but he wanted that to be his last option.  
  
When the classroom was empty, he Apparated directly to his flat and waited for that blasted nanny to leave when Hermione got home.  
  
Five minutes later, he heard her door open and close. Five minutes after that, it opened and closed again. A spell allowed him to see out in the corridor to make sure it was the nanny who left. He waited until he couldn’t see her any longer before he Apparated straight over to Hermione’s flat. She was packing. Not a good sign.  
  
“Going somewhere?” he asked.  
  
She spun around, her wand raised. “Stay away from me, Voldemort.”  
  
She knew. Bloody hell.  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank Serpent in Red and Nerys for taking their time betaing this chapter.

**Chapter 11**  
  
“Going somewhere?”  
  
Hermione spun towards the voice and saw Marcus standing there. No, not Marcus. Voldemort. Even though a part of her still wanted to deny it, she couldn’t possibly fool herself anymore. Keeping the fear away, she aimed her wand at him.   
  
“Stay away from me, Voldemort.”  
  
He didn’t react like she had thought he would. Instead of starting to laugh evilly, his eyes widened, and he looked over his shoulder. When he found that no one was there, he looked back at her with a frown. She still had her wand aimed at him.  
  
“Are you feeling alright, Hermione? You looked ready to get sick in class. I just came by to see if you are okay,” he said slowly, eyeing her with worry in his eyes.  
  
Hermione, however, was not about to get fooled again. “Don’t play tricks with me, Voldemort. Get the hell out of here before I hex you.”  
  
He raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. “Calm down, Hermione. Are you listening to yourself? Why are you calling me You-Know-Who? Did I hit your head during the duel? Perhaps we better go to St. Mungo’s.”  
  
When he took a step towards her, she fired a hex as warning. He jumped back.  
  
“Oh, no, you don’t. I saw you duel. You move exactly like Voldemort. And you speak Parseltongue. And you know that Malfoy was turned into a ferret, even though I’m sure no one outside Hogwarts knows that. And then there are a lot of other things as well, all pointing to the fact that you are Voldemort.” The more she talked, the more certain she became. Even though he didn’t look like Harry had described Tom Riddle to look, there was something in the way he carried himself that reminded her an awful lot about Voldemort.   
  
The man in front of her just sighed. “I told you the reason I don’t tell people about my … ability is because I don’t want them to think I have anything to do with You-Know-Who. And I actually heard the story about Malfoy from some other students. I thought it was funny. As for my dueling ...” He shrugged. “I’m very good at dueling. So is he, from what I’m told. Now, stop with this nonsense. You are scaring Althea.”  
  
Althea was whimpering softly at the kitchen table while watching her parents with wide, scared eyes. Hermione felt a sting of uncertainty. Could she be making a horrible mistake?  
  
She looked at him again, and for just a fraction of a second, there was something very similar to triumph in his eyes. He took a few steps towards Althea.  
  
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she growled and fired a Slicing Hex at him. He had thought she had fallen for his lies again. But she wouldn’t. Never again.  
  
He managed to jump away from her hex, but it still grazed his shoulder, and he winced when he began to bleed. Then he looked up at her again, and Hermione took a step back in fear as the mask fell from his face. In the blink of an eye, Marcus’s friendly expression hardened, and his eyes seemed to get darker. This was Voldemort.  
  
He sent a Stunner in her direction which she diverted. Althea cried out in fear, and Hermione sent a Blasting Spell at him as she ran towards her daughter to get her to safety. She didn’t notice she had missed until the spell hit the ceiling, covering them all with stone dust.  
  
“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he cried.  
  
Hermione was so surprised he used that spell that she didn’t remember to put up a shield. Instead, she was thrown back into the wall while her wand was snatched from her hand. The hit knocked the breath out of her lungs, and when she finally got to her feet again, he was holding the crying Althea against his uninjured arm, speaking softly to her in Parseltongue. He had carried her over to the couch instead, and Hermione started to stalk towards him.  
  
“You stay away from my daughter,” she growled, determined to use any means necessary to save her daughter.  
  
He pointed his wand at her. “ _Our_ daughter. Who wouldn’t be this sad if you hadn’t attacked me, unprovoked. Now stay there. I’ll put her down for a nap so we can talk in peace.”  
  
Hermione was for a moment so taken aback by his ridiculous comment that she didn’t know what to say. Then she saw how Althea seemed to calm down by his comfort. He stroked her back and whispered softly to her. However, there was some sort of magic involved. She could feel it.  
  
“What are you doing?” she demanded to know and walked up to him, wanting to grab her daughter away from him.  
  
He didn’t answer. Instead, he made a wand movement over Althea on the couch, and Hermione could see the air around her daughter shimmer in blue. When she tried to reach Althea through the blue shimmer, she found it impenetrable and she spun around to Voldemort again, her hands in fists of anger.  
  
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” she hissed.  
  
“I only made her sleep. You scared her.”   
  
The fact that he seemed to hold her responsible for it was laughable and did nothing to calm her down.  
  
“But just to make sure you won’t do anything stupid, I’ve put a ward around her. You won’t be able to touch her until I remove it, and she won’t wake up until it’s gone,” he added with a superior smirk.  
  
“You slimy bastard!” she roared and threw herself at him.  
  
She managed to tackle him to the ground and get in a few punches before he overpowered her with his larger body. They wrestled on the floor for minutes, Hermione resorting to biting and scratching him with her nails. However, it didn’t take long until he was sitting on top of her, holding her wrists down over her head. She continued to wriggle until she caught his heated smile. She stopped, going pale with fear.  
  
“What, no more pretending?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.  
  
His face smiled, but his eyes were hard. “My patience with you is over. And as a matter of fact, I’m relieved that you know. Being _nice,_ ” he spat out the word, “is exhausting. It’s much simpler to just hex the people who don’t cooperate. Now that you know who I really am, I can … be myself with you. And trust me, I’ll enjoy that.”  
  
Hermione swallowed. He leaned closer to her.  
  
“Therefore, you should listen closely, Hermione,” he said softly. “You will tell me exactly how you came to the conclusion about my true identity. Once you have done that, we’ll have a long discussion on how we’ll work this out because I won’t let you or Althea leave this flat until I’m absolutely certain you won’t tell anyone who I am. Understood?”  
  
Hermione’s heart beat rapidly. A part of her was still completely in shock over who he was and thought this was all some sort of bizarre dream. However, she could see that he was serious in his threat and knew she had to deal with it. He had also confirmed his identity, and she had absolutely no doubt he could kill her or worse if she didn’t agree. She glanced towards the couch, but all she could see was the blue shimmer around her daughter.  
  
“You won’t hurt her?” she asked, hating that her voice was so weak.  
  
“She isn’t the liability. However, if you won’t see reason ...”  
  
Hermione took a shuddering breath, forcing herself not to just hit him at once for daring to threaten her daughter. He was Voldemort, after all, and had done much worse things than killing young girls. She had to keep her head cool if she were to come out of this intact. More importantly, she had to make sure Althea wasn’t harmed.  
  
He wanted to reason with her. That was something at least. Perhaps she could make a bargain with him that would make sure she and Althea were safe? After all, there had to be something he wanted from her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spend so much time with her in the past and he would definitely not consider keeping her alive now. That thought made her relax the slightest. She nodded, accepting his terms. For now.  
  
He loosened his grip of her wrists a little. “Good. Now, I think it will be for the best if we continue this discussion in the bathtub.”  
  
“Bathtub?” she asked, surprised.  
  
He shook his hair. Dust from the ceiling she had destroyed fell onto her face. Her eyes widened. Surely he couldn’t mean …?   
  
Oh, he did.  
  
“Why can’t we just sit in the armchairs?” she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.  
  
He chuckled. “No, I think this will go much easier if I dictate what will happen right from the beginning.”  
  
With that said, he sat up and pulled her up into his arms. She tried to struggle against him, but he just used magic to make her body lose all ability to move. She felt both angry and scared when he carried her into the bathroom and filled the bathtub with water before vanishing their clothes. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock when she realised that she was still feeling the wonderful pleasure when their bodies touched. It confused her greatly. How could she feel like that with the Dark Lord?   
  
No, he must have put some sort of spell on her.  
  
Once they were both in the tub, her leaning against his chest, he removed the spell that kept her immobilised. She immediately tried to move away from him, but he held her down. After some ineffective struggling, she gave in, deciding to wait for an opening.  
  
“That’s better,” he stated with a happy sigh when she stopped. “Now, tell me how you found out, or I’ll have to do something else, say, see how long you can hold your breath under water while under the Cruciatus?”  
  
Hermione was sure he would have no problem making his threat a reality, and she saw no point in lying to him right now. If she were to be tortured, it should be for something that was worth protecting. At least now, he might tell her something of value that would help her if she managed to get him talking. Harry had always said he was a talker.  
  
“The thought that you could be someone else never crossed my mind until today. When I saw you duel … I knew. Before that, there have been a lot of small things that just, I don’t know, made it all fit together. I should have picked up at the Parsel. I guess it was too far-fetched for me to even consider that you were…” She sighed, not able to shake the discomfort she was feeling. “You were not at all like I expected Voldemort to be. Just the fact that you seem to like me, a Muggle-born, made the idea appear ridiculous at first.”  
  
He chuckled. “Yes, you are a special case. I wouldn’t have done it with any other Mudblood.”  
  
She hardly heard the offensive remark. The fact that he had called her special was something that both filled her with dread and a little portion of curiosity.   
  
“Why me? Why am I special?”  
  
“Guess.” He let his hand wander over the outside of her thigh.  
  
She shuddered at the jolts of electricity it sent up to her sex. Damn it.   
  
“Isn’t that just a spell?”  
  
“Oh, not at all. I was very surprised when I felt it the first time. But I’ve decided that I like it and therefore you.”  
  
“That can’t be all,” she remarked, turning her head so she would be able to see him over her shoulder.  
  
He smirked. “You are too clever for your own good.”  
  
Yeah, she started to get that feeling as well. However, knowledge was power, and as long as she was stuck with him in this tub, she thought she should try to learn as much as possible. Swallowing her fear, she asked: “What is it that makes this happen between us, then?”  
  
“I needed you to get my soul back,” he replied. “And thanks to you, I did.”  
  
“How?” she asked, confused and curious.  
  
He stroked her hair away from her shoulder and shifted a little so they could watch directly at each other.  
  
“We are Soul Mates.”  
  
That was so ridiculous she started laughing, but when he simply arched an eyebrow at her, she stopped. “Wait, what? You are joking, surely?”  
  
He scratched his neck. “I’m afraid not. I have it on good authority that we are. And since fucking you restored my soul after you and your friends had destroyed all my carefully made Horcruxes, I’m inclined to believe it.”  
  
She watched him closely. He seemed honest, and now that she thought about it, she understood why she hadn’t realised, or even considered, what his true identity was. It was because she could see his soul. Or well, she hadn’t seen any indication that his soul was missing. When she looked him in the eyes … she knew: He had a whole soul again.  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
His wet hand came up to her neck, and he touched it gently. “Other than that the sex is amazing? I don’t know.”  
  
She shivered as his hand continued to travel down her back, painting small circles. Why was her body still responding to his touch? She was still scared, even though she didn’t let it consume her.   
  
“And you haven’t tried to find out?”  
  
“For four years. All I could find were silly notions about true love. Nothing that explained what we are feeling.” His hand came down to her waist, and he pulled her close against his chest. She felt his cock at her buttock. It was starting to get hard. Her heart began to beat more rapidly again. This could not be happening. She couldn’t be sitting in a bathtub, feeling Lord Voldemort’s hard-on.  
  
“How did you find out about this ‘Soul Mate’ thing?” she asked, trying to move away and failing because he held her down.  
  
“I met with very ancient creatures, which are also the ones I have to thank for this new body.”   
  
His hands travelled from her waist up to her breasts.  
  
Hermione gasped when he pinched her nipples. “Stop that!”   
  
She moved her hands up to his and tried to pull them away.  
  
“If this it the last time I’ll be able to touch you, I want to do it thoroughly,” he answered nonchalantly.  
  
“You are sick,” she whispered and bit back a moan when his movements caused electric jolts to travel straight down to her clit.  
  
“Maybe,” he whispered and kissed her exposed neck. “Or you could consider it to be one of the many benefits, besides staying alive, that you will get if you swear not to tell anyone about me.”  
  
She groaned as one of his hands moved down over her stomach and began stroking her labia. The same time he pushed a finger against her clit, he sucked hard on her neck and twisted her nipple with his other hand. Hermione bucked with her hips at the intense pleasure. This was sick! She had just found out that he was the evil Dark Lord! She couldn’t be about to achieve an orgasm by his hands!  
  
However, her body wouldn’t obey her brain; it was, in fact, adjusting itself to him. She didn’t protest when he turned her in his lap so she was sitting with her right arm pressed against his chest. When he took her left hand and brought it down to his hard cock, she immediately followed his movements and started giving him a hand job. He moaned into her ear and nibbled her earlobe, his fingers starting to stroke her clit furiously.   
  
Merlin, she loved it. She loved feeling like this. Despite his threats about killing her, she felt wonderful by their closeness. How could that be? It had to be some sort of spell; no way was she a Soul Mate (whatever that meant) with Voldemort!  
  
And yet, she continued to stroke his cock and bucked against his hand as he entered her with two fingers and rubbed her clit. Her head fell back against his shoulder; her eyes closed in bliss as her hand worked just as quickly over his cock as his hand worked her sex. His other hand came up to her face and grabbed her chin, tilting her head in a rather uncomfortable angle. She hardly noticed because, in the next moment, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.  
  
She was so close when he broke their lip-contact.  
  
“I want to hear you scream my name when you come,” he growled.  
  
“Ma…”  
  
“No.” His hand stilled over her clit.  
  
Hermione tried to make him move again. She was so close! Merlin, she wanted to come so bad!  
  
“Voldemort,” she whispered and was rewarded by him moving again. Somehow, it seemed even more intense than before. Her whole body began to shudder.  
  
“Now, Hermione,” he ordered.  
  
Her sex seemed to explode, and it sent a shock wave of pleasure through her whole body.   
  
“Voldemort!” she cried out into his neck.   
  
That made him come as well, but she didn’t notice. She was too high on her own pleasure. They lay there for a short time, breathing heavily.  
  
At least until what, or rather who, she had done overcame her. With all the power she could muster, she threw her elbow into his ribs. The sickening sound of a bone breaking was heard, and Hermione jumped up from the bathtub and rushed towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when the door locked. She tried to open the door, but it was useless. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Voldemort rising from the bathtub, looking furious.  
  
“ _Crucio_ ,” he growled.  
  
Hermione screamed as pain unlike anything she had ever felt ran through her body. However, as she fell down, another sharp and instant pain appeared on the side of her head, and she blacked out.

 

xxx

 

Voldemort lifted the curse when he spotted the blood. Hermione lay unconscious on the floor, blood running from a wound in her head. He had seen her hit the sink when she fell, but he’d not noticed the blood.   
  
Damn! Holding a bleeding person under the Cruciatus Curse was not good at all. They tended to bleed out a lot quicker than usual, and he was not even close to finished with Hermione yet.  
  
Before getting out of the tub, he healed the rib she had cracked, but he didn’t wait for the pain to lessen before moving over to Hermione and stopped the bleeding with a quick healing spell. If she died, he would be really disappointed. However, she shouldn’t have had the time to. He had noticed the blood fast, and it hadn’t even taken a minute for him to heal her.  
  
Sighing in relief, he saw that it was just a shallow wound. She would be fine. He took a deep breath and waited a couple of minutes until the pain in his ribcage had completely disappeared before he lifted her up and carried her to the bed in the bedroom.  
  
When she was lying down, he tied her hands together and then did the same with her feet. He made sure not to tie them too hard, just enough so that she wouldn’t be able to move easily. Then he ran a small diagnostic over her to make sure he hadn’t done any real damage.  
  
He hadn’t, but she would most likely have a horrible headache when she woke up. Oh, well, she deserved it. After a short hesitation, he pulled the covers over her. No reason for her to freeze. When she did accept him, despite who he was, he would want to fuck her, and for that, he wanted her to be warm.  
  
Looking at the time, he discovered that it was already late afternoon. He should take care of Althea. Even though nothing bad could happen to her when she was in her protective sleep, she would still need to eat now and again. Since Hermione was unconscious, she wouldn’t be able to interfere. He could, of course, wake Hermione up at once, but he felt he needed the time to think and get Althea over to his side. If Althea showed Hermione how much she adored him, Hermione would follow in no time.  
  
He needed Hermione to want to be with him. As long as he had her as his power source for more magic, nothing would be able to stop him. What few wizards knew was that the more powerful you were, the harder you were to kill, both by curses and of old age. Even if you were mortally wounded, your magic could keep you alive until your source was depleted. The more magic, the more time you got to heal yourself. Since Voldemort no longer had his Horcruxes and couldn’t make new ones, he had to find alternate ways to make himself immortal. Taking the power from fucking Hermione was the one that seemed to be the most pleasurable method. He needed the power if anyone were to detect him and try to kill him. He still hadn’t found a satisfying way to regain the immortality he had with his Horcruxes. Only spells that would prevent him from dying of natural causes. Even though he was sure he would find a way to become immortal with time, the power from Hermione would do for now.  
  
Nonetheless, the amount of power he got from Hermione depended on how powerful she was. He could start to simply rape her, but in the long run, that would be counterproductive. In the end, she would lose the will to live. He had seen it happen before. When people lost their will to live, their magic would start to wither away. He didn’t want that. Instead, he had to make her cooperate with him.  
  
Threatening Hermione with physical torture would do little good, of that he was sure. He had seen Bella’s memories of her torturing session with Hermione and how the girl had managed to lie while under Bella’s Cruciatus Curse. It had amazed him that such a young Mudblood could hold her head so cool under those circumstances. Bella had, after all, been the best torturer he had ever met. Voldemort himself was better, of course. Still, if Hermione had been able to withstand it when she had been younger, she was sure to do it now.  
  
No, he needed to resort to other sorts of threats as well as bribery. He would use the time he had now to carefully think it over. However, he had the feeling that Althea would be a good way to go. Hermione would do anything for her daughter.  
  
Althea was quite surprised that she had been sleeping, but she quickly forgot about it when Voldemort made them vegetarian paella. He was in the mood for it and was glad that Althea enjoyed it just as much as he did. He would not have had the patience to deal with a cranky child who didn’t want to eat right now.   
  
Ever since his days in the orphanage, there were two things Voldemort couldn’t stand: cranky children and the British kitchen. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to stay away from or kill cranky children (or, in Althea’s case, make sure she didn’t get cranky). It was harder to stay away from the British food since he preferred to live in Britain. Therefore, he had had to learn how to cook on his own instead.  
  
Every time he had visited a new country, he had made sure to learn something from their kitchen. Just as the cooking altered between different people, so did their potions. It was peculiar that few European wizards used Chinese anti-pain potions when they were more effective and had fewer side effects than the British versions. However, as with the cooking, he assumed people just tended to trust their own nation’s things more than any other’s.

 

At least he was fair in that aspect. He distrusted all nations. That weren’t ruled by him, of course.  
  
“ _Where’s Mum?_ ” Althea asked in Parseltongue when she was finished eating.  
  
“ _Sleeping.”_  
  
“ _But it’s not bedtime yet.”_  
  
“ _It’s not. But your mother wasn’t feeling very well so I thought she could use some sleep.”_  
  
Althea sat quietly as he disposed of the dishes with his wand.  
  
“ _Why was Mum so angry with you?”_  
  
He rose from the kitchen chair. “ _She didn’t realise how good I’ll be for her. But she will.”_  
  
“ _Okay.”_  
  
Voldemort watched his young daughter. She was staring off into space with a frown between her thin, dark eyebrows. She was such a beautiful child. When she grew up, she would no doubt be as beautiful as Hermione. The boys would stand in line to … get killed. Voldemort’s expression hardened. Salazar, he did not look forward to Althea growing up. If she became half as stubborn as either him or Hermione, she would be a handful.  
  
However, that was still years into the future. He would have managed to come up with a plan by then. Right now, he needed to focus on what he should do with Althea’s stubborn mother. He really hoped Hermione would come to her senses and see that they should be together. However, in any case, he couldn’t risk her telling anyone who he really was. There was a way to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally (or deliberately) spill his secret. The spell worked so that if the one affected knew she was about to say something that could reveal the secret, then she wouldn’t be able to. However, it required the agreement of the one affected.  
  
If she refused to keep his identity a secret and continued to fight him, he would have to punish her in some way. However, he didn’t want to kill her. Perhaps he could stage her death and keep her locked up for the rest of her life?   
  
No, that would make her boring. Prisoners always lost their spirit after a while. He enjoyed Hermione as she was. Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to raise their daughter alone. And it was out of the question to let someone else take care of her.  
  
“ _Dad, what is Voldemort?”_ Althea was now staring at him again.  
  
He blinked at her question. “ _Why do you ask?”_  
  
“ _My friend told me to ask Mum what Voldemort had to do with you, but she only said Voldemort was a bad man.”_  
  
“ _What friend?”_ he asked, slightly worried.   
  
He had found it strange that Hermione had just figured out who he was, out of the blue. But if someone had planted the idea in her mind …  
  
“ _Shadow-friend,_ ” Althea replied.  
  
Voldemort had a bad feeling about this. “ _Does this shadow-friend have a name?”_  
  
Althea shook her head, but that didn’t make him feel better. The only creatures that knew who he was and had the power to tell Althea as a shadow were the fairies.  
  
“ _So? What is Voldemort?”_  
  
“ _Voldemort is an extraordinary wizard,_ ” he answered truthfully. He didn’t want to give his daughter the wrong impression about him. “ _But you should not mention that name in front of others.”_  
  
“ _Why not?”_  
  
“ _Because people fear the name.”_  
  
“ _Why?”_  
  
“ _Voldemort is fearsome.”_  
  
Althea looked very thoughtful, but then she nodded in understanding, and a sly glint appeared in her eyes. “ _What’s for dessert_?”  
  
Voldemort knew she only got desserts on Saturdays or if Hermione had guests over. And that was something he agreed was good for Althea.   
  
“ _You know there will be no desserts on weekdays, Althea. It’s not good for your body.”_  
  
Although, he silently praised his daughter for trying. She was on her way to becoming a good, little Slytherin. Because, surely, she would get into Slytherin, being of his blood and all.  
  
A groan was heard from inside the bedroom.  
  
“ _Oh, sounds like your mother has awakened. Want to go and see how she feels?”_ he asked Althea.  
  
When she nodded, he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom, just so Hermione would get the right impression.  
  
As he had expected, Hermione seemed quite worried when he placed their daughter on the bed next to her before he sat down himself. Since the covers reached to her neck, there was no way for Althea to see that she was naked and bound.  
  
“Mum sick?” Althea asked with a frown.  
  
Voldemort put a hand on Althea’s back. “Yes, but she will soon understand what she needs to do to get better.”  
  
Hermione managed to give Althea a weak smile. “Althea, honey, why don’t you take one of your toys and go out to the living room? I need to speak with … your father.”  
  
“Okay, Mum.” Althea pattered her mother’s head in what probably was meant as a comforting gesture and left.  
  
Once the girl was out of the room, Voldemort placed an One-Way Silencing Spell over it but kept the door open. Althea wouldn’t be able to see into the room from where she was sitting, but he knew Hermione would not try anything drastic if there was a chance that her daughter moved and did see it.  
  
“How dare you?” Hermione asked harshly and tried to struggle free.  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “How dare I what? I don’t think it’s that uncommon for a father to spend some time with his child.”  
  
Tears of desperation started to rise in her eyes. “She is just a child. You can’t use her like that.”  
  
He chuckled. “But I can. She doesn’t mind. She adores me.”  
  
“That’s because she doesn’t know who you are and what you have done!” she spat.   
  
She looked so alluring when she was angry.  
  
“I don’t think she will mind. Children her age are awfully selfish. As long as I’m good to her, and I will be, she won’t mind what I’ve done to others.” He stroked Hermione’s cheek. “Neither should you.”  
  
She pressed her lips together for a moment. “What is it you expect me to do?”  
  
He shrugged. “Nothing more than you have already done. And enjoyed, I might add. Then, I’ll put a spell over you that will make sure you don’t give anyone any indication of who I am. Not even accidentally.” He held up his wand, tracing it over her throat.  
  
“How?” she asked, distrustful.  
  
“Well, it will only work if you accept it. If you don’t accept it, I’ll have to kill you. Or maybe just lock you away forever. I haven’t really decided yet. Anyway, if you accept this spell, it will make sure that every time you are about to let something slip, you’ll begin to cough.” He chuckled when he saw her eyebrows lift even further in disbelief. “Well, it would be suspicious if you fell down in pain. No one will think it’s strange if you only cough. If you have the slightest intention to let anything slip, you’ll begin to cough even if you haven’t started to say anything. If you are about to let something slip accidentally, you’ll begin to cough mid-sentence.”  
  
“What spell is that?”  
  
“One I’ve created myself, so don’t bother trying to look up for a way to break it. And you need to be a Legilimency expert to be able to perform it, so don’t try to get any help either. I’ll know if you start meddling with it, and I’ll be most … displeased if you do.”  
  
She bit her lower lip, staring at the wand “Is it Dark Magic?”  
  
“No. More like a hex.”  
  
“Will it stop me from saying your name?”  
  
He chuckled. “No, not unless it’s in a sentence like ‘I know where Voldemort is’. I know that you and your friends have the habit of saying my name. It would be strange if you started saying something else all of a sudden. You will be able to talk about me, just not in a way that indicated that we are familiar to each other. Well, besides to me, that is.”  
  
She was giving in. He could see it. It made him very relieved. Right then, she closed her eyes and her body went lax out of resignation. A few tears escaped under her eyelid. “What will happen if I refuse?”  
  
“I think you can figure it out for yourself, Hermione,” he replied softly. “Do consider that I have both you and Althea completely at my mercy.”  
  
Her eyes snapped open again. They were bright with tears and screamed out her fear. “You said she wasn’t the liability!”  
  
He shrugged. “She isn’t. And I don’t want to hurt her. But this is about priorities. I want you to cooperate more than I don’t want to see Althea hurt. If you force my hand, I’ll have no choice but to make Althea suffer.” He paused, making sure the message was received. “This is entirely up to you, Hermione. If you do cooperate, I’ll be the best father Althea can ever hope to have. And I know you want her to have a father.”  
  
She was considering it. He could see it in her eyes. It wouldn’t be long before she gave in.  
  
“I don’t want to sleep with you anymore,” she said in a low voice, looking down. A few more tears escaped from the corners of her eyes.  
  
He moved closer to her and stroked the tears away, the skin-to-skin contact making them both feel pleasure. “I think you do.”  
  
She opened her eyes and looked at him with angst in her eyes. “You are Voldemort. I can’t. It would be like betraying all my friends and …”  
  
He smiled and let his slightly wet finger move over her face and down her neck. “You will.”  
  
She shuddered. “No. I don’t want you in my life at all. I promise not to say a word about you if you leave me and Althea alone.”  
  
He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “You don’t have anything to bargain with, Hermione. You can do nothing to prevent me from visiting you and Althea. And not only because of me, but because of Althea. How do you think you can explain to her that she can’t see her precious father? No, I dictate the terms here. Either you promise you won’t say a word, and then, I’ll untie you and let you have some of the tasty paella I made for dinner. Or you don’t accept, and I’ll torture you a little more, ask this same question again and if you don’t accept, then either I’ll simply have to bring Althea in here and … you don’t want that.”  
  
She was scared and desperate. For some reason he didn’t enjoy it as much as he usually did. He was only hoping that she would take the first alternative.  
  
“You won’t use me to help you with whatever it is you are planning to do with the world?”   
  
She was grasping for straws now. Something that would make her able to live with herself after the decision. He decided that he could afford giving her a straw.  
  
“No, I won’t even tell you if I’m planning something. With your Gryffindor moral, you would only try to stop me.”  
  
His reassurance that she was, in fact, not about to become a Death Eater for accepting his terms seemed to make her relax. As he had known it would. She wanted to cling to her view of herself as a “good” person. He didn’t mind that. If he had to use her for his work, he wouldn’t let her know that he was using her. Then, she could sit on her high horse as much as she wanted.  
  
She let out a sigh of defeat. “Fine. I accept.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the longest I've written, so it took some time to edit and for my betas to go through it. Especially since they had real life stuff going on (I know, how dare they?). So make sure to express your gratitude to Nerys and Serpent In Red for their great job!

**Chapter 12**  
  
The moment Hermione had the opportunity to, she fled from Voldemort’s presence. However, she couldn’t flee far, only to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, knowing it was silly since it wouldn’t hinder him for more than the second it took to cast Alohomora. But she needed to feel like she was somewhat in control. Like she was doing something.  
  
She sank down on the bathroom floor and broke into tears.  
  
The last twenty minutes had been torture. Voldemort had untied her and led her to the kitchen table where he had made sure she ate. She hadn’t even recognised what it was; it had been hard enough to keep it down. All the time, she had watched Althea and tried to stay strong for her.   
  
Not that Althea seemed to need it. She had happily spoken to Voldemort in Parseltongue during the dinner, like nothing had changed. Of course, for Althea it hadn’t. Voldemort was still Marcus, her friendly father who was a better cook than Hermione could ever be. Surely, it must be some sort of cosmic joke that Lord Voldemort seemed more able to take care of a child than Hermione Granger. Not only did he give her better food and was able to talk to her, they had also bonded much quicker than Hermione and Althea had done. When had life got so unfair?  
  
Hermione sighed and leaned her head back against the door. Merlin, she was pathetic, hiding inside the bathroom as Voldemort was outside, playing with her daughter. How could he do that, by the way? Just act like he was nothing more than a normal man? If she hadn’t started to think about it, she wouldn’t have figured it out. Then, he would still be Marcus, the handsome professor whom she had spectacular sex with and … threw out the window.  
  
She almost began to laugh. Oh, Merlin, she had thrown Lord Voldemort out the window, and all he had done in return was turn her into a mouse.  
  
She paused, and a faint smile lingered on her face. He had only turned her into a mouse. That was rather lame, coming from the Dark Lord. But it made sense. If he had tried something worse, people would have asked questions. He didn’t command a whole squadron of Death Eaters any longer. Instead, he was hiding here, pretending to be a normal person. Oh, she didn’t doubt that he had some clever plan to regain power, but for the moment, he had to be very careful so that no one would discover him. If she or Althea suddenly went missing …  
  
Hermione stood up, feeling power return to her. She wasn’t completely helpless. Voldemort couldn’t just do whatever he wanted anymore. He wouldn’t be able to stop her from seeing other people. If he did, they would start to ask questions. Despite the spell he had put on her that kept her from telling people about him, she was sure she could give them some hint of who he was or trick him into revealing himself to someone. Harry would definitely recognise him if he saw him duel, for example. If she only—  
  
She stopped as she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale with eyes rimmed red from crying, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. A big, purple bite mark was visible on her neck. He had given it to her right before she climaxed. She had managed to climax, despite knowing who he was. She had wanted it.  
  
Hermione shuddered and wrapped her arms around her. What was this strange bond between them that made her blood sing every time he touched her? He said it wasn’t a spell, and now, when she thought about it, she believed him. It wouldn’t make sense if it were. Lord Voldemort would never lower himself to have sex with a Mudblood, unless there was something special going on. But why did he seem to want it now that he had a whole soul again?  
  
Magic.  
  
The answer struck her like a lightning bolt, and she stared wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror. Having sex with her made Voldemort much more powerful. Of course he wouldn’t allow her to leave when she gave him so much power. She had felt it when she had been inside his mind. He, for a lack of better terms, loved it.  
  
Then, there was the other thing she had felt when she was inside his mind. His feelings for her. It wasn’t just the magic that made him want her. It was something more. Back then, she had been afraid that she wouldn’t be able to return his strong feelings. Now, she wondered if she had been mistaken. Lord Voldemort didn’t care for anyone.  
  
Yet, at that time, she had been so sure of what she had felt. Lord Voldemort wanted her.  
  
She jumped when she heard the door to the bathroom open but didn’t look up until she felt him standing right behind her. Hermione took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. She met his eyes in the mirror.  
  
“Oh, don’t look like that. I won’t bite,” he remarked with a smirk and put his hands on her shoulders. One finger traced the bite mark. “Again.”  
  
She exhaled slowly. “No, but you can torture me.”  
  
He chuckled. “I don’t plan to torture you anymore tonight, so there is no need to look so anxious.”  
  
“I’m not worried you will do that,” she mumbled and looked down. “I’m just not comfortable with you being here at all.”  
  
“And if I leave, you’ll only worry about when I’ll come back,” he stated and made her turn around so she was facing him.  
  
She hated to admit that he was probably right. Perhaps it was better if he just stayed here. At least then, she knew where he was. Or wait a minute …  
  
“Are you just saying that so you can stay here and make sure I won’t do anything drastic?” she asked suspiciously.  
  
“Maybe,” he said, looking pleased. “Either way, I’m staying, so you better get used to it.”  
  
She stroked her hands against her jeans nervously, wondering what would happen next. He was watching her closely. When he raised his hand to touch her, she flinched. He let his arm sink.  
  
“Having sex will be hard if you keep doing that,” he remarked dryly.  
  
Her eyes widened, panic rising in her throat. She did not want to make him even more powerful now that she knew who he really was.   
  
“No!”  
  
He smirked and suddenly pulled her close to him; one of his hand pressed against her arse and the other on her neck. Her heart started to beat at a furious pace as he leaned closer to her.  
  
“What do you think you can do to stop me?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes. Merlin, what should she do?  
  
“Answer me,” he growled and pulled her hair backwards so she was forced to look up at him.  
  
Nothing. She could do nothing. She knew that was the answer he wanted, but she refused to say it. Instead, she pressed her lips together. To admit that would be admitting defeat. She had already accepted not to say anything about who he was, but she would not let him walk right over her. She would not let him use her any way he wanted.  
  
He smiled. “I see we will have to take away that small part of resistance you still carry.” His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard. He leaned closer to her, so their noses were almost touching. “I’ll just need some time to prepare. Until I have, why don’t you take a little nap to … gather your strength? Trust me, you’ll need it.”  
  
She didn’t see him raise his wand, so he must already have had it in his hands. All she remembered were his dark eyes just before she passed out.

 

xxx

  
“Wakey, wakey, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione was brought back to consciousness when she felt a mild slap on her cheek. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but something was restraining her. Looking around, she discovered that she was on the couch in her own sitting room, but it had a few additions. The couch was broader, and as far as she remembered, she never had any cuffs attached to it. Her hands were bound over her head, but she could still bend her arms to some extent, so it wasn’t completely uncomfortable. What was uncomfortable was the fact that she was naked, and Voldemort was sitting next to her, looking down on her naked body with greed in his eyes.  
  
However, there was something with the whole situation that amused her. “Seriously? You have bound me to a couch and are about to torture me? Where is the originality in that?”  
  
Voldemort looked at her face; his lips curved into a smile. “Some methods are classic for a reason, dear. Just look at how lovely your breasts look when you are lying like this.”  
  
His hand came down on her right breast, and he stroked it gently. Hermione’s amusement disappeared and was replaced with anxiety.   
  
“So, you are going to rape me.”  
  
He chuckled. “Oh, dear, if we get to the intercourse part, it’s only because you have begged for it. Several times.”  
  
Hermione swallowed and tried not to feel how the pleasure swirled through her body as he manipulated her nipple. She sighed in relief when he removed his hand.  
  
“Where is Althea?” She asked instead. She highly doubted Voldemort would let the girl see this. Even though she didn’t think he had hurt Althea while she was passed out, she was still worried. Obviously.  
  
“She is asleep,” he said, tilting his head. “I have put a Silencing Spell around this room, so you can be as loud as you like. She won’t hear anything.”  
  
Hermione shuddered. But in some strange way, she could see that he was speaking the truth and was content with it. At least he wouldn’t have any reason to hurt Althea tonight when he had Hermione bound in front of him.  
  
“But before I begin, I’ll give you one last chance. What is it that you can do to stop me?” he asked, looking her straight in the eye again.  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together again. There must be something she could do. There was always something you could do. She just had to find it.  
  
Voldemort, however, smiled. “I was hoping you were going to react like that. Well then, let’s begin.”  
  
He stood up and walked away. Hermione stretched her neck, trying to see what he was doing. Worry was like a tight knot in her stomach. She wasn’t afraid that he was going to kill her. This wasn’t about killing. However, it was very worrisome that she had no idea what to expect. She had, of course, read about sexual games which involved someone being at the complete mercy of another, unless a safeword was uttered. Something told her Voldemort would never give her a safeword.  
  
When he came back, he was carrying a plate filled with different objects. Among the scarier things was one of her kitchen knives. Among the puzzling was a tube with something that looked like chocolate sauce. She looked up at him, and her disbelief must have been showing on her face because he chuckled.  
  
“You’ll understand soon enough, my dear,” he purred and put the plate down on the coffee table.  
  
He started to undo his black robe, and for some reason, Hermione couldn’t take her eyes away. She tried not to feel disappointed when she saw that he was wearing a black t-shirt and trousers underneath. Why on earth would she be disappointed? This situation was unnerving already; she did not want him to be naked.  
  
She flinched when he sat down next to her. He ignored it and picked up the tube with chocolate. He undid the lid and brought it to her belly.  
  
“Now, you’ll have to keep perfectly still. Otherwise, I may end up writing the wrong runes, and you can find your belly on fire instead of what I have planned,” he warned her.  
  
Hermione wasn’t sure she liked what he had planned more than being set on fire. However, fighting him right now would only lead to her being tied up even further, and she didn’t want that either. Hence, she tried not to move as the cold chocolate sauce landed on her stomach.  
  
“Why are you writing runes with chocolate sauce?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.  
  
“Because I like chocolate sauce,” he replied, keeping his eyes on what he was writing on her belly.  
  
She could feel the rune he was writing. It was the same one, repeated four times on her belly and then, written two times on both thighs. She had no idea what purpose it was supposed to have, but it didn’t feel very scary. In fact, her fear was slowly changing into curiosity and (dare she think it?) lust. His left hand, the one that wasn’t smearing her with chocolate sauce, was over her hip, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her body. All she could think about was what would happen when he was done.  
  
“There,” he said softly and straightened, replacing the tube of chocolate sauce on the plate and picking up the knife instead.  
  
Fear immediately returned to Hermione.  
  
“Now I just need some of your blood,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “Any place in particular you want me to cut?”  
  
She pressed her lips together. Surely, he didn’t think she wanted to be cut at all?  
  
He placed the knife at her cheek, and she tried to move away. Okay, maybe there were some places on her body she would prefer to be left unmarred.   
  
“Leg,” she said, hoping that she wasn’t too late.  
  
Thankfully, Voldemort withdrew the knife from the cheek and let it slide down the side of her body until it reached her thigh. Hermione held her breath as he made a small cut just above her knee. She exhaled. That hadn’t been too bad. But she still had no idea what he would do with her blood. There was something called Blood Magic. From what she had heard about it, blood wasn’t at all good to play around with. Quite the opposite. Blood Magic was usually used in the darkest of the Dark Arts. So, of course, Voldemort would rejoice using it.  
  
Right then, Voldemort smeared her blood over his wand, and Hermione felt her heart make an extra leap out of fear. That couldn’t be a good sign.  
  
“ _Ineo_ ,” he said, and the blood on his wand disappeared with a bright flash.  
  
At once, Hermione could feel the skin of her belly and thigh heating up, right under where he had written the runes. The heat spread to the surrounding areas. At first, it was rather nice. She had been freezing a bit, lying naked like that. But it only took a minute before the heat started to increase to uncomfortable levels.  
  
Hermione tensed and started to squirm, trying to find some way that would relieve the hotness. It was starting to get particularly bothersome between her legs, and she found herself spreading her legs in the hope of getting some coolness down there.  
  
Voldemort chuckled and took something else from the plate. It was an ice cube, one of those in plastic so the cold water inside it wouldn’t mix with the rest of the beverage. With a smirk, he placed it just beneath the runes on her stomach. Hermione let out a yelp. It was painful at first, but then, it started to cool the area, and Hermione could take a shuddering breath.  
  
He began to slide the ice cube over her belly, never on the runes but around them.   
  
“It’s a rather interesting spell, wouldn’t you say?” he asked innocently. “The longer I keep it active, the hotter you’ll feel.”  
  
He moved the ice cube down her thigh. She began to breathe faster. She couldn’t decide if it were painful or not. Every time his fingertips touched her skin, it was definitely not painful, and it greatly confused her. She knew he was doing this because he wanted to show her that she couldn’t do anything to stop him, but …  
  
“Oh, will you look at that,” he said mildly, changing his seat so he was sitting between her legs.  
  
One of his fingers came up to her sex, and Hermione had to bite back a moan as he slid his fingers over her labia.  
  
“You are dripping already.” He withdrew his finger and looked up at her.  
  
Hermione watched breathlessly as he brought the finger up to his mouth and licked it. Merlin, he looked perfectly delicious when he did that.  
  
No, she did not just think that. She did not think _Lord Voldemort_ looked sexy.  
  
His smile widened. He could probably see what she was thinking. Bastard. If she weren’t tied down, she would—  
  
Her thoughts stopped coming when Voldemort brought the ice cube down to her sex and pushed it inside her cunt. The sudden coldness in all the heat made Hermione lose her breath. It was a very intense feeling that made the walls in her cunt cramp up. Then she felt the ice cube leave her body, and the hotness started to lessen a little. Instead, something else was torturing her skin. A tongue.  
  
She managed to open her eyes, which had fallen shut some time ago, and saw Voldemort leaning over her, licking the chocolate runes from her body. As he made his way from her right thigh to her belly and down to her left thigh, the intense heat disappeared and was replaced by a tingling. She took a deep breath, feeling spent.  
  
Voldemort sat up again and wiped some chocolate away from the corner of his mouth. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”  
  
She stared at him. It had been intense and scary, not fun. Once again, Voldemort seemed to read her thoughts from her expression. He laughed.  
  
“Well, I had fun, and that is what counts.” Still smirking, he placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned over her.  
  
Hermione could feel her heart speed up again in anticipation.  
  
He stopped when he was a mere inch away from her face. “If you admit that you liked it as well, I can untie you, and then, we can do this properly.”  
  
Hermione looked deeply into his eyes. They weren’t cold any longer. He looked … excited.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” she asked breathlessly.  
  
He leaned even closer and gave her a small kiss on her nose before withdrawing and sitting down between her legs again.  
  
“I have always felt it important to establish the power structure in a relationship right from the beginning,” he explained and placed his hands on her ankles. “Since you seem reluctant to accept it, I’ll do whatever I need to do to show you who has the power.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and she felt anger rise in her chest. “If you mean yourself, then of course not. A relationship should be built on equal partnership and—”  
  
His laugh broke her off. She stared at him in anger. His laugh lessened, and he began stroking her leg from ankle to thigh. It did nothing to lessen her anger.  
  
“Oh, my sweet Hermione. Now you know who I am, what else can you expect?” He leaned closer to her again, his eyes hardening. “I’m Lord Voldemort. No one is equal to me.”  
  
Hermione growled and tried to give him a kick, but he prevented it by holding her legs down.  
  
“But you aren’t the Dark Lord anymore,” she spat. “You have nothing of your old power!”  
  
His smiled disappeared, and for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to hit her. Then, he slowly withdrew his wand from the holster on his arm. Hermione’s eyes widened in fear.  
  
“And yet, your expression right now tells me I do,” he replied softly and placed his wand against her stomach. “It is wise of you to fear me. Do you know how long I’ve had this wand?”  
  
She shook her head slowly while watching the wand, preparing for the worst.  
  
“For four years. I bought it the morning after I fucked you.” He drew small circles on her stomach with the wand, moving downwards over her belly and thigh. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed with this wand?”  
  
Her eyes snapped up to his. He held her gaze, and at the same time, she felt something push into her cunt. A shock wave of magic went through her, forcing her to climax fast and hard.  
  
“Thirty-eight,” he whispered and withdrew the wand again. It was wet with her juices.  
  
Hermione stared at him, breathing heavily, and she didn’t want to take in what had just happened.  
  
Voldemort leaned closer to her again, this time actually lying down on top of her. “Now, Hermione. Please remind me, what is it you can do to stop me from making you do whatever I want?”  
  
Hermione swallowed. He had just made her climax, using a wand he had killed thirty-eight persons with. He had just made her _climax_ , using a wand he had _killed_ thirty-eight persons with! She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.  
  
“Nothing,” she replied hoarsely.  
  
He looked down at her in triumph, and then, he bent his head and kissed her lips. She didn’t open her mouth, and he withdrew a few seconds later, arching his eyebrow in question.  
  
She couldn’t just take it. He might be able to do whatever he wanted with her, but he wouldn’t win. She still knew one thing that gave her power over him.   
  
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you will always want me more than I want you.”  
  
He frowned.  
  
She continued, tears running from the corners of her eyes and down her hair. “I felt it when I was inside you. You have much stronger feelings for me than I’m even capable of having for anyone.”  
  
His expression turned unreadable. Then, he suddenly put his hands into her hair and looked deep into her eyes. Hermione didn’t hear him utter the words, but in the next moment, she could feel him inside her mind. He tore through her memories before finding the one he was looking for. It was of the time she had been inside his mind when he hadn’t noticed. It only took a couple of seconds for him to see it; then, he withdrew again.  
  
“So you know about the drawing of magic,” he said coldly. “That doesn’t matter. You will not be able to stop it. Right?”  
  
She shook her head slowly. No, she was well aware that she couldn’t.  
  
“Good.” He sat up again, and with a wave of his wand, her hands were free. “And don’t read too much into the fact of what you think I may or may not feel for you. Unlike you, I don’t let my feelings control me.”  
  
She didn’t believe him. She did still have some power over him. That made her feel a little bit better. He was able to make her do whatever he wanted, but she was able to make him feel things. And since he was neglecting the fact that feelings were important, she was sure she would be able to use it against him in the future. She would just have to bide her time.  
  
As she stood up, she massaged her arms which had got a bit stiff from being bound. She wanted to get some clothes on, perhaps take a shower and cry a little more. Then, she would come back out and simply … live with him. For now. Until she could think about some safe way to remove herself and Althea from his presence. She wasn’t giving up, only retreating so she would be able to fight the battles she could win.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
She had taken three steps towards the bathroom door, but now, she froze in a sudden fear. Then she scowled at herself. It would only be exhausting if she jumped at every sound he made. Unless she did something that threatened him, he wouldn’t hurt her. He had as good as said that.  
  
She turned around slowly, her arms over her chest. Despite everything that had happened, she felt uncomfortable standing in front of him naked.   
  
“I’m taking a shower.”  
  
He took a few steps towards her, and Hermione had to force herself from flinching away.   
  
“You are?”  
  
She scowled at him. “Do I have to ask for your permission? Like that won’t become boring fast. Please Voldemort, can I use the loo? May I sit down and eat dinner? Could I, please, be allowed to breathe?”  
  
He chuckled. “You are very amusing at times. Did you know that?”  
  
She rolled her eyes, annoyance building in her chest. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, can I go?”  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he really expect her to …? Yes, of course, he did. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for him to be able to force her physically to do what he wanted. Now he wanted her to follow his commands.  
  
However, she knew what the outcome would be if she didn’t comply, and she did not want to go through the whole tied-to-the-couch ordeal again. Therefore, she closed the distance between them with one step and rose on her tiptoes to reach his mouth.  
  
The pleasure it brought her made her knees feel weak. It should be forbidden to kiss like that. Hermione’s eyes fell shut as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. His tongue demanded entrance to her mouth, and she willingly opened it. The sparks of pleasure that travelled through her body were wonderful. It made her forget everything but his warm body and wet lips. At least for a little while.  
  
But, when he withdrew, she remembered everything and was only left with a feeling of guilt and confusion. How could someone so evil make her feel so fantastic?  
  
“That was … most satisfying.”  
  
Was it just her or did he also sound a bit breathless? She looked up at him. Yes, he looked a bit dazzled. That made her feel smug, but she carefully schooled her expression.   
  
“Well, then I’ll take that shower now.”  
  
He merely nodded before he turned around and went back to the couch. Hermione hurried into the bathroom. Once she stood under the hot water, she was finally able to relax. She could think again. Somehow, she would make it through this. When she was done in the shower, she would go out to him and act normal. She would take care of Althea, do her school work and explore what this “Soul Mate” thing was. Somehow, she was sure it would help her deal with Voldemort.  
  
The only problem was the whole “acting normal” thing. He was, after all, Lord Voldemort. How did you act normal around the person who had been the nightmare of your childhood? A man who had killed and tortured countless people? A wizard so powerful that he had managed to come back from death? A man who wanted her so much she couldn’t even find the words to describe it. A wizard she had managed to throw out the window.  
  
Hermione giggled nervously. Normal. Yeah, right. Nothing about this was _normal_.  
  
Before she had the time to figure out how she should best tackle the problem, she was finished in the shower. Since she didn’t want him to come in and get her, she didn’t linger. Instead, she stepped out and dried herself off. Quietly, she opened the door to the bedroom to get some clothes. On the way to the wardrobe was Althea’s bed, and Hermione paused next to it.  
  
Her daughter was lying on her left side with her fingers wrapped in her hair, like she always did when she was asleep. Her mouth was a little open, and she was breathing slowly. Hermione knelt next to the bed and stroked her daughter’s warm cheek before pulling up her covers a little bit.  
  
They would manage. Hermione had to protect Althea no matter what. Even if that meant keeping Voldemort in a relatively good mood when he was around Althea. Nothing would hurt her little girl.  
  
Filled with resolve, Hermione quickly dressed and left the bedroom as quietly as she had entered. Even though it was already night, she wasn’t tired at all. Also, she didn’t think she would have been able to sleep even if she had been tired. It was one thing to come to a decision about what to do. It was another to actually do it. Voldemort was still terrifying, even though she had decided not to give him any reason to hurt her.  
  
He was sitting on the un-transfigured couch with a book in his hands. There was no sign of the plate with things, and Hermione hoped he had banished them all. She would never be able to use that kitchen knife again. A shiver went through her body just as he looked up at her.  
  
“You need to stop looking like I’m going to eat you,” he remarked matter-of-factly. “It will be impossible for you to keep my secret if you always look at me like that.”  
  
She crossed her arms and scowled. “Sorry, I’m not particularly used to being in this situation.”  
  
“Well, you’ll have to learn how to deal,” he commanded and looked at her from head to toe. “A walk should calm you down.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Walking. In the forest, I think. You strike me as a person who is relaxed by nature.”  
  
How could he go from forcing her body to follow his every command and then sound almost … considerate?   
  
“Well, yes, but I didn’t think you would just let me walk away on my own.”  
  
“Of course not. I’ll be coming with you. Then we’ll have the opportunity to just talk.”  
  
She stared at him in disbelief. Lord Voldemort wanted to simply talk to her? Why?  
  
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said, scowling. “Do you really think I would have come by here so often if I did not enjoy talking to you?”  
  
“Right.”   
  
Somehow, it was easy to forget that he had ever been Marcus, but now that he mentioned it, she remembered that they had spent many nights just talking.   
  
She paled. What had she told? Something that could help him hurt her friends? She tried to remember everything, but all she remembered were the long, academic conversations about magical theories and an occasional tale about her own childhood. Had they talked about Harry? She knew she had mentioned the upcoming wedding, but what else? Oh, Merlin, what if Voldemort had used her to find out information about Harry? Had she said anything important? She couldn’t remember!  
  
She noticed that she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled. Panicking would not help her. If she had said anything important about Harry, it was too late to do anything about it now. She had to be very careful about what she said from hereon.  
  
“Well then, are you coming?” He looked quite amused as he went up to her and offered her his arm.  
  
“We can’t leave Althea alone here,” she objected, even though she did feel like it would be nice to get some fresh air. It would be even nicer if she got to go alone, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  
  
“We can Apparate back in a second. I’ll put up a ward that will alert us if she wakes up or if anything disturbs the flat.”  
  
That sounded reasonable.   
  
“Very well.”  
  
He waved his wand towards the bedroom and around the flat. Then, he pulled her arm to him. The next moment, she felt the sickening sensation of Apparition. Once her head was finished spinning, she saw that they were standing on an unfamiliar forest trail. It was dark and cold, but before she had time to complain about it, he removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.  
  
She gave him a puzzling look, but he had already started to walk. She quickly followed, almost stumbling over a rock that lay on the dirt trail. However, as soon as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she could watch out for any other big rocks.  
  
“I must admit that I’m surprised,” Voldemort said after they had walked in silence for a couple of minutes. “I thought you would be bursting with questions you wanted to ask me. This could, after all, be a perfect opportunity for you to get the inside scoop on every follower I’ve ever had.”  
  
Hermione looked at him, puzzled. “You mean you would answer if I asked?”  
  
“You’ll find that I can be very rewarding to people who make me happy.”  
  
“I’m sure,” she muttered. “But I can’t say I have spent much time thinking about your followers. Most of them are dead, after all.”  
  
“True, but I thought there was someone you were just dying to find out more about. After all, the look of annoyance on your face was very clear when you realised Draco Malfoy was in your class.”  
  
She grimaced. Yes, it was true that she was dying to find out what Malfoy’s deal was, but she would never have used Marcus to get information like that. Although, using Voldemort was a whole different deal. Fair and just were the last things he was. However, that didn’t mean she wanted to take advantage over that. She still had some honour.   
  
But, when it came to Malfoy ...  
  
“Fine, what is he doing there?” she asked, not able to stop her own curiosity.  
  
“He is paying off his debt to society. Lucius is still in Azkaban but will be released later this year for, as they call it, good behaviour. Of course, his traitorous nature and sycophantic ways no doubt helped.” Voldemort wrinkled his nose. “However, not even Malfoy’s riches could pay off all the debts the family has to pay. Draco is working at Oxford as a … well, handyman, I guess you can call him. In exchange, he is allowed to listen in on classes now and again. He doesn’t have any degrees yet, and it will probably take a few years until he gets them. Until then, he will only participate in a few classes. Since his girlfriend is in Transfiguration, he has decided to follow her most of the time.”  
  
Hermione felt awfully gleeful that the Malfoy family had lost their status. Yet, she was bothered by the fact that Malfoy Senior would be released so soon. For all she cared, he could rot away in Azkaban forever.   
  
“What about Narcissa?”  
  
“Dead,” Voldemort said with a shrug. “Only lasted a year in Azkaban; then, she killed herself.”  
  
Hermione felt a small sting of guilt. Draco might be a bully, but losing your mother was just sad.   
  
“So, Draco doesn’t do his homework?”  
  
“Nope. He is allowed to take part in the practical demonstrations, like today, but I’m not grading him.”  
  
“Oh.”   
  
Silence fell over them again as Hermione thought about how much things had changed in the United Kingdom since she left. Or, well, the country hadn’t changed per se, but the people in it had. Harry and Ginny were finally together; Ron was running a successful business with George; Draco was no longer the spoiled brat she had known but had to work as a handyman; and Lord Voldemort spent time with a Mudblood.  
  
“Many of the Death Eaters that survived the final battle just disappeared afterwards,” Hermione stated after a while. “Did you kill them?”  
  
“Most of them. I do not allow people to betray me.” His statement was so casual that he might as well have been talking about the weather.  
  
“Why not kill Draco?”  
  
“The Malfoys have an uncanny ability to return to everyone’s good grace after a while. Lucius, despite his arrogance, is quite talented at Arithmancy and everything else that has to do with numbers. Draco is much the same as his father but still in the rough, so to speak. It would be a dreadful waste of talent to kill them.” He looked down at her and smiled. “Just like you, dear.”  
  
She scowled at him. “Don’t compare me to the Malfoys!”  
  
He chuckled. “Oh, you are cleverer than they are. And much more attractive.”  
  
She blushed but felt quite pleased at the same time.  
  
“Although, that may be because I’ve never really liked blonds,” Voldemort mused.   
  
It sounded like he was talking more to himself than to her. Hermione, however, couldn’t stop her snort.   
  
“Oh yes, who would choose manageable blond hair when they can have this?” She picked up a stray of her frizzy brown hair.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you would care about such petty things.”  
  
She sighed. “I don’t. Not really, anyway. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my hair will always behave the way it wants. Besides, there are more important things to worry about.”  
  
“How mature of you to realise that,” he said in a mocking tone.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know; that’s me, always behaving much older than I am.” She stopped as the thought hit her. “Wait. You are Voldemort.”  
  
“I am?” he asked, feigning shock and stopping next to her.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “What I mean is that I thought you were thirty-five years old or something. You look thirty-five and act … well, around thirty-five.”  
  
“Your point?” he asked, crossing his arms.  
  
“How old are you? I mean, really?” Hermione asked, trying to remember what year Tom Riddle was born in.  
  
“Seventy-five,” he answered.  
  
She let her eyes wander over him and then she shuddered.  
  
“What?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.  
  
“I could be your granddaughter,” she remarked with a grimace. “That doesn’t seem a bit strange to you?”  
  
He chuckled. “Since you aren’t my granddaughter, I really don’t care. And as for my age … well, you already said I do not look nor act like a seventy-five-year-old.”  
  
“No, you don’t,” she agreed.   
  
In fact, sometimes he was rather childish, but she wouldn’t voice that opinion out loud right now.  
  
He stroked her cheek. “Do I feel like seventy-five?”  
  
Hermione shuddered at the intense look he gave her and shook her head. How could you be so entranced by someone you were supposed to despise?  
  
“Then, that isn’t an issue,” he said softly, and his hand came up to her hair, stroking it.  
  
No, he was right. That wasn’t the issue at all. What he had done during those seventy-five years was, though.  
  
Voldemort let his arm drop to his side again. “What?”  
  
“What ‘what’?” she asked snappishly.   
  
Did he expect her to read his thoughts and know what he suddenly wanted to know? He was so full of himself. Though, she had an idea on what would come up next and wasn’t sure she should talk about it. His past would always be an issue. Sooner or later, she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it anymore. Perhaps it was better to do it now when Althea wasn’t around to get in trouble?  
  
“You look saddened all of a sudden. Why?” he asked.  
  
“Your history is always going to be a problem between us,” she stated carefully. “I’d have to undergo a personality change not to be bothered by it and I don’t want that.”  
  
He regarded her closely. “Neither of us can change the past, Hermione. You shouldn’t worry about it.”  
  
She pressed her lips together. “What happened in the past matters. Everything we do has consequences. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be hiding like this.”  
  
He sighed. “Still, we can’t change it.”  
  
“Even if you had the chance to, you wouldn’t,” Hermione said darkly.  
  
“Oh, there is a great deal of things I would change,” he replied with a shrug and began walking again.  
  
Hermione followed. “But not the murders, right?”  
  
“Some of them.”   
  
He sounded rather amused. Was he mocking her? She scowled.   
  
“But only because killing them turned out to be a mistake for you, right?”  
  
“Obviously,” he replied dryly.  
  
She sighed. “And that’s the problem. You only think about yourself. How am I supposed to deal with that?”  
  
“As long as you do what you are told, I hardly see us having any problems,” he said lightly.  
  
“We would have even less problems if Harry managed to find and kill you,” Hermione muttered, not able to stop herself.  
  
He grabbed her upper arms tightly. Hermione tried to break free by kicking and wiggling. He forcefully pushed her off the path and against a big pine tree. With his entire body, he held her against it, making it almost impossible for her to move.  
  
“And here I was thinking about how nice we were getting along,” he said, leaning closer to her. “Now, I will only say this once, so make sure you listen closely.”  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes but didn’t say a word.  
  
“Since you can’t tell Potter a thing about who I am, I won’t have to worry about you telling him. However, if he does find out another way, I will kill him. Oh, don’t give me that look; I know I’ve said it before. The difference now is that Potter is no longer protected by the same things he was before. And I don’t have any issues with fighting dirty.”  
  
“If Harry does find out, he will tell others,” Hermione spat.  
  
Voldemort gave her a cold smile. “And I’ll kill them all. You are the only one alive who knows who I really am, and I’ll keep it that way. Even if that means I’ll have to kill every single person on this planet.”  
  
Hermione shuddered. Even though she wasn’t certain Voldemort could successfully kill Harry, there was no denying he could kill many others before he was finally defeated. After all, he had before.  
  
Voldemort regarded her closely as she thought about it. When his threat was received, he released her, looking satisfied.   
  
“Well, I feel calmer now, don’t you?”  
  
Hermione hugged herself. Despite the warm cloak she was wearing, she felt cold. There was just no winning against this man. Whatever she did, someone would get hurt.  
  
“Can’t we just go home?” she asked in a low voice, feeling very tired all of a sudden.  
  
“Of course, dear,” he purred.  
  
Less forcefully than before, he grabbed her again and Apparated them back. Once they landed, she moved away from him, needing to put some space between them. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed and not have to be with him for a few hours. She was dead tired. It was already past midnight. Good thing it was a Saturday tomorrow, and she didn’t have anything pressing to do.  
  
“I’m going to sleep,” she muttered.  
  
He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.   
  
“Sleep or _sleep_?” he asked, pronouncing the last word with a suggestive murmur.  
  
“Just sleep,” she said, feeling a bit nervous.  
  
“Then, by all means, don’t let me stop you.” He let go of her shoulder, smirking. “I will stay here and read for a while. Then, I’ll join you.”  
  
“Join me?” she asked with uncertainty, worry growing in her stomach. She did _not_ want to have sex with the man who had just threatened to kill everyone she knew.  
  
“To sleep,” he added, looking highly amused. “I don’t plan to sleep on the couch.”  
  
She didn’t like it one bit and was about to tell him to leave her alone when she caught his expression. He looked eager. Like he wanted her to say no, so he could prove once again that she could do nothing to stop him. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.  
  
“Fine,” she just said, and he looked at bit disappointed.  
  
Sleeping with him would be very uncomfortable, but at least, she wouldn’t have to give him more power. She went to the bathroom, her mood dark.  
  
Brushing her teeth and doing everything else necessary for a night in bed only took fifteen minutes. Then she walked straight into the bedroom, pulled on the T-shirt she usually slept in and sank down in bed.  
  
She didn’t know how long she lay there, tossing and turning. Any minute, Lord Voldemort could come in, wanting to go to sleep as well. How could she possibly be expected to go to sleep with a known mass murderer lying next to her? Even though he didn’t seem to want to hurt her now, you never knew when he would change his mind. And she couldn’t think of anything she could do to stop him yet. He still hadn’t given her back her wand. Although, once she had time to digest this new turn of events and think it over, she was hopeful she would find some way to do something. For that, however, she needed a clear mind and she wouldn’t get that without sleep.   
  
Alas, sleep eluded her.  
  
After what must be over an hour, she heard him moving inside the bathroom and flushing the toilet. A little while later, the door opened. Hermione closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.  
  
He walked around the bed and sank down on the left side of it. She tensed as he held up the covers and crawled under it. Fear welled in her chest when she felt his wand at her back. Oh, Merlin, what did he plan to do? Should she turn around? Scream?  
  
Her T-shirt disappeared. In the next moment, her knickers disappeared as well. What the …?   
  
He let out a satisfied grunt and spooned against her, his hand coming up to her left breast. He stroked it gently before letting his hand rest next to it. He leaned closer and kissed her shoulder. It sent small jolts of pleasure through her body, but she was too tense to enjoy it.  
  
She lay there for a couple of minutes, hardly daring to breathe, until she realised he wasn’t going to move more. She exhaled slowly and, against her better judgement, started to relax. It took her a while to fall asleep, but when he didn’t move or say anything more, she finally managed to.  
  
When he entered her wet sex, she woke up with a moan. His hand came up and covered her mouth.  
  
“Hush, dear, you don’t want to wake up the little one,” Voldemort whispered softly in her ear.  
  
Hermione hardly noticed. She was too busy enjoying the pleasure emerging from between her legs and spreading through her body, getting more intense since he was holding her so tightly. He moved fast and hard, drilling into her body, taking what he wanted. One of her own hands moved down, and she started to massage her clit, feeling the orgasm coming as she moved to meet his strokes.  
  
“Yesssss,” he hissed against her neck as she came and started to milk his cock, which was more than happy to give her all its seed.  
  
It wasn’t one of those explosive orgasms she had experienced before, but it left her feeling relaxed and happy. Until she remembered whom she had just done it with. She moved away from him, wincing as his now soft member left her.  
  
“Why did you do that?” she whispered furiously before she glanced nervously at Althea who was sleeping peacefully in the smaller bed next to them.  
  
Voldemort smirked and turned to his back, stretching his hands above his head. “You were lying there, all soft and inviting. How could I not? Besides, you seemed to enjoy it just as much.”  
  
She scowled at him. However, since she didn’t know how to respond to his smugness verbally, she left the bed and went to relieve her bladder, which suddenly felt awfully full. Ten minutes later, she came back out, dressed in the same red shirt and blue jeans as the day before. He was still lying in bed, looking out through the window with a thoughtful expression. Before she had time to scold him, Althea woke up.  
  
“Muuuuuum,” she whined.  
  
Hermione could immediately hear that there was something wrong with Althea. In two big steps, she was at her daughter’s bed and sat down next to her, taking her hand.  
  
“What’s the matter, honey?” Hermione asked, concerned.  
  
“Head hurt,” Althea complained.  
  
Her eyes were closed, but she had a hard grip of her mother’s hand. Her face was stuck in a grimace of pain, and a few tears had escaped her eyes.  
  
Hermione placed her hand against Althea’s forehead and got really worried when she felt that her daughter was burning up. What should she do? She had to call a doctor, no, take her to St. Mungo’s—  
  
She hardly felt any pain when a naked Voldemort yanked her away, tackled her to the floor and placed a shield around them. Before she had time to ask what the hell he was doing, he covered her eyes with his hand, just barely managing to protect her from the blinding light erupting from the girl on the bed. However, he didn’t have time to cover her ears, and the explosion that followed made her deaf and disoriented for a couple of seconds. She couldn’t see anything, but she felt the whole room shake. All she heard was the ringing in her ears as Voldemort removed his hand from her eyes and sat up. Dazed, Hermione just stared at the destruction of the bedroom. Everything seemed to have exploded into a million pieces. On the remains of the small bed, Althea sat, crying. That snapped her out of her stupor. Althea seemed unhurt, but Hermione hurried over and lifted her up, making sure nothing was amiss. Once she was sure her daughter wouldn’t fall down dead, she turned to Voldemort.  
  
“What did you do?” she asked, certain he had something to do with it.  
  
“Nothing. It was magical diarrhoea,” he replied as he swirled his wand over his body and was dressed in a flash.  
  
“What?” She had never heard about that before.  
  
“Well, it’s like when you have been constipated for a very long time, and the body wants to get rid of it all at once.” He made a gesture over the room. “Diarrhoea.”  
  
Hermione was still just blinking at him. “What?”  
  
“Too much magic inside a small girl who doesn’t use her magic equals magical diarrhoea,” Voldemort told her slowly, like she was the small girl.  
  
“But … that has never happened before.”  
  
“I’m sure it has, just not with such a large magnitude,” he answered with a grimace. “Good thing I saw what was about to happen or you could have been a head shorter.”  
  
“Althea would never hurt me!”  
  
“Not intentionally, no, but you can’t really control this. I should have made her use her magic more, I guess …” Voldemort kicked some of the rumble.  
  
Hermione looked down at Althea who was sobbing against her shoulder. Was he telling the truth?  
  
“You should have, yes,” a female voice came from nowhere.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened when the shape of a woman took form in the middle of the room. A very beautiful and clearly-not-human woman.  
  
“Hello, Hermione,” she said, her voice as soft as silk. “I’m Morgana.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to my two betas Nerys and Serpent In Red.

**Chapter 13**  
  
“Oh, bloody hell!” Voldemort exclaimed when he saw who had decided to appear in Hermione’s bedroom.   
  
He pulled out his wand and was about to use “Avada Kedavra” when he remembered that nothing worked on fairies. He groaned. Morgana winked at him as if she could read his thoughts. Which she probably could, damn her.  
  
“Hello, Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger. And Althea.”   
  
The fairy floated towards Hermione. Voldemort frowned when he realised she hadn’t used Althea’s last name. Fairies had the annoying habit to use your full name. What reason could they have for not using her full name? It was very suspicious. Thankfully, Hermione seemed equally suspicious.   
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“I am known under many names, Hermione Granger,” Morgana replied in her usual, mystical, “I’m-always-hiding-a-secret” voice. “Modron, Morrígan, Morgan le Fay …”  
  
Hermione watched her in disbelief. Then, her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Voldemort. “Is this one of your tricks?”  
  
Voldemort snorted. “I’m afraid not.”   
  
He came up to her, deciding that it would be better if Hermione heard his version of the truth first. Who knew what sort of things Morgana would tell her if he didn’t?   
  
“She isn’t lying; she has a disturbing quality of being around. But to summarise, she is a fairy, immortal and all that, and the person who gave me this dashing look.”  
  
Like he expected, the fact that the fairy had helped him made Hermione even more suspicious of her.  
  
“Yes, we did. And his price was the girl you are now holding in your arms,” Morgana concurred calmly, her eyes twinkling.   
  
Voldemort hated twinkling eyes.  
  
Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What?”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know what the price was. All I had to do was sleep with you to regain my soul.”  
  
“And place a diamond on her stomach after the intercourse,” Morgana reminded him helpfully in a sweet voice.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.  
  
He sighed. “I didn’t know what would happen.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”  
  
He shook his head, frowning at the anger appearing in her eyes.  
  
“You mean, you just agreed to put a strange, magical object on my stomach after you used me to regain your soul?”   
  
Voldemort could see Althea grimace and push at her mother when Hermione gripped her daughter a little too hard. It seemed his little hellcat of a Soul Mate was really angry. How annoying.  
  
“Well, of course, _you_ don’t care about that; how silly of me to consider it,” Hermione continued to rant. “I’m just a stupid, little Mudblood and Harry Potter’s best friend, who cares if I get some strange magic inside of me. I bet you hoped that it would kill me.”  
  
“If I wanted you to die, I would have killed you myself,” Voldemort interrupted her as she drew a breath, probably preparing to rant some more at him. He had enough of her silly, female hysterics. He would just have to set her straight on this insignificant issue. “Besides, this was four years ago. Evidently, nothing bad happened to you!”  
  
“But something is going on with _my_ daughter!” Hermione shouted.  
  
Now, Voldemort realised what it was that made her upset. It wasn’t really the fact that he had treated her badly (he was Lord Voldemort after all; what else could she expect?), but because she was afraid for Althea’s well-being. Just like he was.  
  
He glanced at Morgana and was surprised to see how pleased she looked. Did the fairy want them to fight? Why? For whatever reason, he was sure he wouldn’t like it.   
  
“I don’t like it anymore than you do. Althea is _my_ daughter as well,” Voldemort said and turned to look at Morgana. “Do you mind telling us now what it is you want to do with _our_ daughter?”  
  
Ignoring the Dark Lord completely, Morgana looked at Hermione, who had turned her attention to the fairy as well, and smiled reassuringly as she floated over to her and her daughter. Morgana moved her hand just an inch away from Althea’s hair, tracing a curl. All the while, Althea was staring at Morgana with a serious face. Hermione took a step back, stating her distrust.  
  
“It’s not anything dangerous or bad,” Morgana explained, clearly wanting to get Hermione to trust her. “You two are very powerful beings. And Althea is more powerful than both of you. Because of us.”  
  
Voldemort cursed silently. Now, Hermione would find out that he had lied about the green areas in Althea’s aura as well. Judging by her reaction before, she was not going to like it any better. He would have to do some damage control. Otherwise, Hermione would become difficult again. Even though he liked disciplining her, he didn’t have time for that. Right now, he was much more concerned with finding a way to make sure the fairies did not get a hold of his daughter.  
  
Morgana chuckled, and Voldemort hoped she hadn’t been able to see his thoughts. He was using the strongest Occlumency he knew.  
  
Thankfully, all Morgana said was: “She is a special child with special powers. We will make sure you cannot take advantage of that, Tom Riddle.”  
  
“Wait a minute. You are telling us that Althea has some sort of special powers? How?” Hermione asked, glancing at her daughter.  
  
Voldemort decided that the best way to do damage control was to admit as much as possible. And twist it so she wouldn’t cooperate with Morgana. “The diamond. Fairies store their magic in diamonds. It went inside Althea when she was created.”  
  
“Althea is a fairy?” Hermione asked, looking shocked. Then, her eyes widened, and she looked at Voldemort. “The green areas! You said that it was just a magical overload! That she was a witch, just more powerful!”  
  
Before Voldemort had time to say anything, Morgana interrupted.  
  
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “For now, Althea is not a fairy; she is yours. The green areas, as you call them, are just our mark. Tom Riddle has no claim over her. But as long as you keep your claim over her, she will be yours.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
Morgana’s smile widened. “We gave him something he wanted, and in return, he gave us something we have wanted for a long time: a witch with the potential to understand our knowledge.”  
  
“To what end?” Voldemort asked.  
  
Morgana was looking straight at Althea, and the girl reached out to her. When the small hand reached the fairy’s face and went straight through the cheek, she giggled. Morgana giggled as well before looking at Voldemort again. She fired him a brilliant smile.  
  
“You know us, Voldemort. We just want some company.”  
  
Voldemort was prepared to bet Hermione’s life that there was more to it than that. He crossed his arms. “You want something more.”  
  
She floated backwards again. “I suggest you let her use her magic more, Hermione Granger. It will make Althea feel much better.”  
  
“Wait!” Hermione said when Morgana seemed about to disappear. “I don’t understand what you are saying. Do you want to take Althea?”  
  
The room darkened, and for a moment, the fairy was pouting like a child. “We are not thieves, Hermione Granger.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to offend you. But you said—”  
  
The room brightened again, and the fairy smiled. “We are patient. One day, Althea will decide for herself where she wants to go, will she not?”  
  
“I guess,” Hermione answered slowly. “But why did you come here now?”  
  
“Because we felt it prudent to inform you about what a special girl your daughter is. We knew Tom Riddle would not do it.”  
  
Voldemort snorted. Hermione glared at him.  
  
“So, you just want Althea to be some sort of … friend to you?”  
  
“Yes. But it will be her choice.” Morgana smiled.  
  
“Sure …” Hermione frowned. “Another thing though, are you Althea’s shadow friend?”  
  
Morgana beamed. “She has told you about me? Yes, I am. I want her to get to know me.”  
  
That didn’t seem to sit well with Hermione, but after a while, she sighed. “Well, I guess Althea could choose worse friends. But if she ever tells me that you have hurt her, I’ll find some way for you to disappear.”  
  
“I would never hurt her. You will see when you have read up on us. If Althea ever stops liking to play with me, I’ll leave her alone,” Morgana promised. “But don’t let your mind get clouded by Tom Riddle’s lies about us.” She sent Voldemort a dark look.  
  
Voldemort frowned. Were they trying to turn Hermione against him? To what end?  
  
Hermione scoffed. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about _that._ ”  
  
Voldemort glared at Hermione but decided to deal with her later. “I want a few words with you in private, Morgana.”  
  
Morgana gave him a long look before she nodded. Hermione looked at him suspiciously. Thankfully, Althea saved him from having to explain anything.  
  
“Mum,” she mumbled.  
  
“Yes, darling?”  
  
“Hungry, please.”  
  
Hermione sighed and, with a last hard look at Voldemort, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Voldemort turned to the fairy with crossed arms.  
  
“I won’t let you take Althea,” he said. “She is _my_ blood. You can never have my claim over her.”  
  
The fairies’ only way to use magic was through a witch or wizard. He was sure that they wanted Althea to do some sort of magic for them. He didn’t know what, but he was sure it wouldn’t be good for him.  
  
“A deal is a deal, Tom Riddle,” Morgana replied, her eyes turning cold. “We gave you what you wanted. This is your price. Or do you want us to take back what we did for you?”  
  
“You can’t reverse the effects of the potion,” Voldemort quickly reminded her.  
  
“We can do a lot of things wizards can’t.”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t completely convinced she was speaking the truth. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. If the fairies did manage to reverse the effects of the potion, he would be in quite a bit of trouble. It was exhausting to wear a glamour all the time, and other types of potions only worked for a short period.  
  
“You do not have to worry so much about it, Tom Riddle. We only want what is good for Althea,” Morgana said with a smile. “And, unlike you, we actually allow people to have a choice.”  
  
Voldemort turned his hands into fists. Very well, then he would have to make sure Althea never followed them. However, there was one more thing he had to take up with Morgana.   
  
“Is that why you told Hermione about me? Don’t look innocent, I know you did. And you should know that if someone else finds out, I’ll reveal to everyone that Lord Voldemort is the father of Althea. Do you honestly think other wizards will leave her at peace if they know that?”  
  
Morgana didn’t show any concern, but he was sure it worried her because she said, “Your loss will be greater than ours.”   
  
Then, she was gone before he could respond to that.   
  
Fuming, he restored the room to its former state before entering the other room where he found Hermione making porridge. He schooled his expression. If Althea saw how angry he was, she would only be scared. He needed her on his side if he were to undermine the fairies’ influence on her. That would not happen if he scared her too much.  
  
After breakfast, Althea was very tired, which wasn’t unusual for someone who had just had magical diarrhoea, and Hermione let her go to bed again. When the door to the bedroom was closed, Voldemort put a silencing spell over it. Before Hermione even had time to react, he pushed her down in the couch. He needed her to see reason about this whole fairy thing.  
  
“Now, I need you to understand that the fairies are evil, meddling creatures,” he said matter-of-factly.   
  
If Hermione were also making sure the fairies couldn’t put ridiculous ideas in their daughter’s head, it would be even harder for them to do it. Voldemort didn’t want anyone but him putting ideas in that sweet, powerful, little girl.  
  
She snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you.”  
  
Since his patience had disappeared a long time ago, he was not in the mood for her to be a smart mouth. He fired a curse at her. It wasn’t the Cruciatus, but it still stung. Hermione yelped.  
  
“No talking, just listen. Merlin did a good thing when he diminished their powers,” Voldemort continued. “They could do whatever they wished before. They controlled the elements and could take magic from anyone if they wished.”  
  
“Just like you, you mean?” she retorted, clearly referring to his harvesting of magic when they were having sex.  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “What did I just say?”  
  
“You are not my ‘master’, Voldemort,” she spat. “Of course I’m going to protest when you are being the biggest hypocrite in the world.”  
  
“I’m not a hypocrite. I don’t steal your magic. I only take advantage of the power we create through fucking,” he said, while weighing his wand in his hand and wondering what curse he should use to make her less annoying.  
  
“Which should be mine as well!” she growled, clearly not understanding the dangers of pissing Lord Voldemort off.  
  
“You don’t even know how to harvest it,” he bit back. “Nevertheless, the only thing you should understand now is that the reason the fairies want Althea is so they can use her against us in some way.”  
  
Hermione stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
He watched her in disbelief. “What?”  
  
“Ever since I met you, you have done nothing but lie to me. In fact, because you seem so determined to stop them, I assume they want things that you don’t want, which can only be good news for the world.” She stood up. “And, like Morgana said, Althea has the right to decide her own future when she is older.” With her nose in the air, she walked away from him.  
  
But she didn’t get far.  
  
“ _Crucio!_ ”  
  
He took great pleasure in hearing her scream and see her writhe in pain on the floor. All the annoyance from this morning just seemed to evaporate. There really was nothing sweeter than cursing those who dared to defy him. After a half a minute, he let go of the spell and walked to the sobbing body on the floor.  
  
“What you don’t seem to understand, Hermione, is that I’m in power of you,” he said calmly. “Therefore, as far as you are concerned, everything I tell you is the truth and you should act accordingly.” He nudged her over to her back with his foot. “Do I make myself clear or do you need a little more … convincing?”  
  
“Bastard!” she growled.  
  
“I see,” he said with a sigh. “ _Crucio._ ”  
  
This time he held it a bit longer, but not with the full force he could muster. After all, he didn’t want her to become permanently damaged. Just to show her that he was right. Hmm, perhaps there was a more entertaining way for him to do this?  
  
He released her again. “What about now?”  
  
Her face was all red and puffy from crying and screaming. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out. He leaned in closer to hear what she was saying. Then, faster than he had thought was possible for someone he had just tortured, she snatched his wand from his hand.  
  
“ _Crucio_ ,” she whispered.  
  
It didn’t hurt as much as it could, but Voldemort still groaned and lost his foothold.   
  
She frowned and then spoke louder. “ _Crucio!”_  
  
Despite the pain, Voldemort laughed. “You have to mean it, love.”  
  
His words made her scream, and she threw herself at him. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”  
  
She hit him with her fists everywhere she could. He managed to block her most of the times but received quite many bruises anyway. After a little while and what could possibly be another broken rib, he managed to capture her wrists. Only to be kneed straight in the groin.  
  
That hurt more than the Crucio had done. Tears of anger and pain welled up in his eyes, and he roared at her. Until he felt a wand at his throat.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him through sobs. “Don’t you dare fuck me one moment and then torture me the next.”  
  
He gripped her waist, trying to push her away, but she was straddling his ribcage and only pressed her legs harder against his upper body, not moving an inch.  
  
“Swear that you won’t torture me anymore, or I’ll kill you here right now.”  
  
He could feel her honesty, and that had him rather worried. “You don’t want it enough to …”  
  
She slapped him. “I know other spells that will make you just as dead as the Avada! SWEAR!”  
  
He could probably overpower her before she had time to curse him. He had his hands free. So, if he pushed the wand and her away at the same time, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Right?   
  
However, she seemed rather upset. More than his victims usually were after he had tortured them. Blinking away the tears from his eyes, he looked up at her face, trying to find out what was driving her. Desperation, anger and grief were clear on her face. But why? What was it that had her so worked up?   
  
Then, he felt it.  
  
The pleasure was there, tingling all over his body. Not just from the fact that she was touching him but from the magic she had used on him before, too. The pain had been bigger than the pleasure, but … there was pleasure. It seemed like whatever it was that made them enjoy each other’s touch wasn’t limited to physical touch and included magic as well. Despite his aching body, he felt _good_.   
  
Was that how she had managed to recover so quickly? Had torturing her given her pleasure as well as pain? That was rather counterproductive.   
  
Or confusing, from her angle, he assumed. Would he find her wet under those jeans?  
  
Despite the fact that she had kicked him hard, he could feel a stirring in his loins. He wanted her. It was like a fire in his mind. He wanted her. Again and again. Looking into her eyes, he could see the same fire there. She wanted him as well. Even without his wand, he had no problem seeing into her mind. She was horny and angry. Angry because he had made her horny by torturing her. His magic had washed over her with pain and left her feeling only pleasure. That was quite … arousing to think about.  
  
“I swear never to torture you magically again,” he growled, moving his hands up under her shirt, almost groaning at the pleasure of touching her bare skin. Even though he was horny like hell, he would never agree to more than necessary.  
  
Hermione sobbed. “Do you swear on your magic?”  
  
“Yes!” He wanted her now.  
  
As the oath took place, she dropped his wand and bent down to kiss him hard. He responded in equal fashion. Ripping her clothes off her, he made sure to touch her skin as much as possible. His hands caressed her stomach, breasts, and then, shoulders as he pushed the torn shirt off her body. She pulled open his robe, and the increased skin-on-skin contact made them both groan out loud.  
  
In his lust-hazed state, he wondered if the pleasure weren’t even more intense than it usually was. If that were the case, it was probably due to the Cruciatus. He knew from experience that the magic didn’t disappear from a victim at once with that curse. Even if the pain weren’t as intense, a victim could experience shudders days afterwards. He had always assumed it was lingering magic. If he were correct in his guessing that their magic had the same effect as their touching did, then they were already full of each other, so to speak. Hence, unstable horniness.  
  
Hermione fumbled with his trousers and managed to pull them down. He kicked them off. Fortunately, he hadn’t bothered to put on any shoes.  Even better, he hadn’t bothered to put on any underwear. After just one moment of missing her touch, she had removed her own underwear.  
  
Just as he had expected, she was already dripping wet, and she didn’t take any time with foreplay. Even though his balls were aching from her ungentle handling, he was rock hard. She moved the cock inside her with a quick thrust and began riding him in earnest. All he had to do was lie there and receive the pleasure. However, that didn’t stop him from running his hands over her legs and up to her breasts. He watched through half-lidded eyes as she moved furiously above him. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and her face was red from both anger and arousal. Tears continued to fall from underneath her eyelids.  
  
When his hand found the little nub right above the place where they were connected, she moaned loudly and threw her head back. He met her strokes as the power began to swirl around them. He closed his eyes and focused on drawing it into him.  
  
“No!” she growled and twisted his nipples hard.  
  
Voldemort winced in pain and, forcefully, pulled her hands away so she fell down on top of him. That also hurt since he hadn’t had time to heal the injuries she had inflicted on him earlier. It didn’t stop them from thrusting against each other hard and fast, though. He held her hands at either side of his head and looked at her with a frown.  
  
“I want the magic as well,” she mumbled before she kissed him.  
  
The kiss was much softer than the movements of their sexes, and Voldemort wasn’t sure what she meant with it. However, he decided that he could afford giving her some of the magic.  
  
“Then, close your eyes,” he whispered when she let go of his mouth.  
  
She did and leaned her forehead against his shoulder, never missing a thrust. He took a deep breath and, once again, focused on the magic that was growing between them. He pulled it into his body and also pushed a little bit of it into her. He took about ninety percent for himself and left her with ten. She didn’t seem to notice. What she’d got had her moaning into his neck. When she finally exploded in pleasure, he made sure to take it all. It was just too exquisite to share. She was too exquisite to share.  
  
Not allowing himself to come as she did, he rolled them around and watched her as she came down from her high. Her eyes were still closed and her chest heaved, inviting him to taste those dark, pink nipples. Her hair lay like a halo around her head, frizzy and sexy. He licked the dry tears off her face, tasting the salty texture, before he pressed another kiss on her lips and began moving inside her again. Even though it was amusing to have her doing all the moving, he still needed to show her in some way that he was the one in control. Always and forever.  
  
Hermione moaned softly into his ear as he trailed kisses down her chin and neck. He was close now. So deliciously close. He didn’t want it to end since he knew that would, no doubt, lead to her wanting to talk about what happened between them. Since he didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he wanted to, once again, try to find any clues to what being a Soul Mate meant.  
  
He couldn’t hold his orgasm at bay too long, though. He bit into her neck as he came, leaving his mark on her body. It washed over him like a great wave, making his whole body sing. The world darkened before his eyes. He shuddered and couldn’t keep himself up but fell down on top of her soft body.  
  
Coming down from his high, his body tingled with magic. He opened his eyes and saw something at the corner of his eye. They were lying with their heads towards the door that led to the bedroom, and when he lifted his head, he saw that the door was open. Althea was standing in the opening, her eyes wide with interest.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow at her, not managing to hold back the smirk. Althea smirked back. He made a gesture with his hand for her to go back inside. Thankfully, she was wise enough to follow his command. She stepped into the bedroom again and closed the door quietly. Voldemort was certain she would ask what they were doing later, but he was thankful she hadn’t shown herself to Hermione. Her mother would, no doubt, feel that Althea was much too young to see something like that. It was better that Hermione didn’t know.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Nerys and Serpent in Red for betaing.

**Chapter 14**  
  
Hermione didn’t want to open her eyes. If she opened her eyes, she would have to see Voldemort again and remember what she had done. She didn’t know what had made her act that way.   
  
Or, well, she kind of did. The torture had been horrible, but when it ended, it seemed to go straight down to her clit.  
  
Which was sick on so many levels that she wanted to crawl under a rock and never show herself again. It was humiliating how much she craved him. Even now, when she was satisfied and had him naked on top of her, his now soft cock still inside her, she wanted him. When he left, it felt like he took a part of her with him. An important part. Merlin, she hated him for making her feel like this.  
  
Her unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She squealed and pushed him off her.  
  
“Give me my wand,” she ordered, trying not to look at his handsome body.  
  
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked with a frown.  
  
“Yes, I just forgot. I promised Ginny to go and look at locations for the wedding today.” Hermione hit her forehead. “Shit, shit, shit!”  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow at her as she tried to gather her clothes, which were more than a little torn. Another knock was heard, louder.  
  
“Well?” she asked him, finally looking directly at him.  
  
He was frowning. “You wish to go with Ginevra?”  
  
“Of course! I have to. Ginny is counting on me to help her decide. Give me my wand back.”  
  
“And you don’t feel like we should talk about what just happened between us?”  
  
She stared at him, a blush creeping up her face. No, she wanted to run as far away from him as possible. Or well … not really. She wanted to jump him again and then run as far away as possible. Or maybe …  
  
“We can talk later,” she finally said. “Give me my wand. I have to wake Althea as well and …”  
  
Voldemort picked up his own wand, which had rolled a few feet away from them during the act. With a wave of it, her wand appeared.   
  
“I’ll look after Althea.”  
  
She scowled at him. “If you believe that I'll leave you alone with my daughter ...”  
  
“Our daughter,” Voldemort reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's not like you haven't left me alone with her before. Besides, after what she went through today, it would be close to child abuse if you’re going to drag her around all day long. And you know she doesn't handle Apparition well.”  
  
Hermione felt like he had slapped her. Of course, it was all true, but …  
  
A third knock was heard, followed by a muffled “Hermione?”  
  
She felt torn. What should she do? Since she had promised Ginny to help, she didn’t feel comfortable breaking her promise by saying she couldn’t go. However, if Voldemort stopped her, what could she do? Besides, she didn’t really want to leave Althea alone with him ...  
  
Voldemort waved his wand again, cleaning and dressing them both.   
  
“If you let Althea stay here with me, she will sleep for a few more hours before I make us dinner. After the magical diarrhoea, she needs the rest as well as healthy food. She is my daughter, too. Nothing bad will happen to her. As long as _you_ don’t try anything stupid, that is.”  
  
As he spoke, every word, gesture and expression screamed his sincerity. He seemed to really mean what he was saying. But there was also an underlying threat. If she didn’t agree to his proposal, she probably wouldn’t like the outcome. However, if he wouldn't hurt Althea, leaving her with him could probably work. Especially for Althea. With a grimace, she nodded and rushed to the door to open it for Ginny.  
  
“Hi,” Hermione said in a fake chipper voice. “I’ll just grab my handbag, and then, we can—”  
  
Ginny, however, only nodded and rushed inside before Hermione even had time to finish her sentence.  
  
“I really, _really_ have to pee. Harry was in the shower when I got home, and really, how long can a man take?” She threw her bag on the floor. “Anyway, I’m sorry I’m a little late, but I thought that maybe I could—” Ginny silenced when she spotted Marcus standing by the seating area.  
  
“Oh.” Her eyes travelled from Voldemort to Hermione and back to Voldemort again. Finally, they came to rest on Hermione like she were really seeing Hermione for the first time. “Oooh.”  
  
“Hello, there, Miss Weasley.” Voldemort looked a bit uncomfortable, but Hermione was quite sure it was an act. What for, she had no idea.  
  
“Oh, hello,” Ginny said, a smug smile appearing on her face.   
  
Hermione did not care for the metaphoric lightbulb that flashed above Ginny's head. To save face, she just said, “Marcus agreed to babysit Althea while we are out.”  
  
“I see.”   
  
Ginny seemed to see a little more than was good.   
  
“Well, er, I’ll just use the bathroom, and then, we should get going,” she said as she quickly walked to the bathroom.  
  
“Right,” Hermione muttered miserably, knowing that Ginny would have tons of questions once they were alone. She was not sure how she should handle it.   
  
“Do you want me to Obliviate her?” he asked in a low voice as he came up to her.  
  
Hermione hesitated, but then, she shook her head. She couldn’t trust Voldemort to not remove something important.   
  
“Ginny can keep a secret. I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone.”  
  
Voldemort tilted her chin backwards and looked her straight in the eye. “Make sure she doesn’t. Otherwise, I will.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. She did not like the threat. The toilet flushed, and he stepped away from her before she had time to reply. Ginny came out, and Hermione gave her a small smile. Summoning her handbag, she followed Ginny out to the hall. They walked in silence through the house and out to the street.  
  
“Our first place is maybe a ten minutes’ walk from here,” Ginny said casually. “Shall we walk or Apparate?”  
  
Deciding that it was better to get the inevitable girl talk out of the way, Hermione replied with a sigh: “Walk.”  
  
It only took a minute before Ginny started her interrogation.   
  
“So, do you usually sleep with your babysitters or is he just special?”  
  
Hermione groaned. Only Ginny could put it that way.   
  
“Of course I don’t. And I didn’t really mean to sleep with him either … it just happened.”  
  
“I see. But that was your teacher, right?”  
  
Hermione’s face was so hot with embarrassment that you could probably boil an egg on it. “Please don’t tell anyone.”  
  
Ginny gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course not. But … is he taking advantage of you?”  
  
 _Definitely yes._   
  
“No, it’s nothing like that, we just … I don’t know. Since we are neighbours, I began talking to him a little more than usual and, well, one day I asked if he wanted dinner. I didn’t mean it like a date, and he didn’t either. We talked about Transfiguration and other academics, and one day it just … happened.”  
  
Ginny got her “need-juicy-details” face. “Exactly what just happened?”  
  
Hermione couldn’t get any redder. “We fucked, I believe the term is.”  
  
“Oooh, Hermione Granger, you little slut!”  
  
“Oi!” She pushed her friend, perhaps a bit more forceful than necessary.  
  
Ginny laughed. “Just kidding. But this doesn’t sound like the Hermione I know. He must really be special.”  
  
“Oh, he is,” she replied dryly. _A bit too special._  
  
“So what now? Are you two together?”  
  
Hermione kicked at some pebble lying on the cobblestone road. “No, I don’t think so. If someone in the school finds out, I will get kicked out and he can lose his job. We are just … He gets along so well with Althea, so sometimes we just meet and …”  
  
Ginny suddenly stopped. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Hermione with a new understanding in her eyes.   
  
“Is it just a coincidence that Althea and Marcus look alike?”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. She had never considered it before. And besides, this wasn’t Voldemort’s true looks, right? So, it wouldn’t be something that he could pass along genetically, right? Voldemort had said the fairies had helped him to get his “dashing look”, but she didn’t think it was how he’d originally looked. Tom Riddle had been described to her rather differently. Besides, if it were his true, original face, Ginny and Harry would have recognised him since they both had seen how he had looked before he turned all snake-like. True, he had looked like he did now when she had slept with him the first time, but … Wait, how could he have looked exactly the same for the past four years? It took a lot of power keeping a glamour up like that. However, if there was a similarity between Voldemort’s current looks and Althea’s, then it couldn’t be a glamour. They weren’t real and couldn’t be passed on to the next generation. He had to have changed his whole genetic makeup somehow.   
  
“Y-you think?” Hermione stuttered.  
  
Ginny watched Hermione with a weird expression on her face. “They have the same hair colour. And the same cheekbones.” Ginny kept staring at Hermione, and the truth must have been visible on her face, because Ginny continued: “Oh, Merlin’s freaking underpants, it’s true? Marcus is Althea’s father?”  
  
Hermione nodded, feeling miserable. How much more would Ginny figure out?  
  
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” Ginny smacked Hermione’s arm. “How long have you known?”  
  
Hermione hugged herself; the air suddenly felt very chilly. “Since the first time I met him. Please, please, don’t tell anyone! Not even Harry!”  
  
Ginny was gaping at her. “But Hermione, this is huge!”  
  
“I know, but I like the way things are. I just want to go to school and raise my daughter in peace. That’s all! If people find out, they will expect a lot of things from me, and I don’t want that. Marcus and I are just … private.”  
  
“It’s him, isn’t it? It’s he who doesn’t want anyone to know,” Ginny growled. “That bastard!”  
  
“No, no! It’s not like that! We both don’t want it—”  
  
Ginny, however, seemed to, once again, think the worst of Marcus. “I knew someone that good-looking couldn’t be good news. Is he married? Is that why?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Hermione replied, wanting to shake Ginny to her senses and shout out the truth at the same time. But even as she thought it, she began to cough. It reminded her of the spell Voldemort had put on her to prevent her from telling anyone the truth. “He doesn’t have as much to lose as I do if the wrong people find out. I’m here on a scholarship, Ginny! If anyone suspects me of sleeping with a Professor, I will lose that. And even if I don’t get kicked out, I will never be able to afford staying.”  
  
Ginny watched her warily. “Fine. I just got this weird feeling when I saw him today. There is something spooky about him.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “He is cleverer than anyone I have ever met.”  
  
Ginny didn’t seem convinced, but they began walking again. Hermione looked up at the sky. The heavy, grey clouds were really matching her mood. She didn’t want to fight with Ginny, but she didn’t know what to say. She had never been good at lying, and Ginny had always had an uncanny ability to see straight through her.  
  
“It worries me a little,” Ginny confessed when they had left campus and were out on the sidewalk of the main road. “You have always been so in control of everything. And now … well, it was weird that you got pregnant so young. Not that I don’t admire you for keeping and raising her,” she added quickly. “But it’s so unlike you, and I worry that he is blackmailing you or something.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “I know. But he isn't. It's just, the way he makes me feel is so … I’ve never felt anything like it. I don’t love him but, when he touches me, I feel …” She couldn’t find the right word.  
  
She was surprised when Ginny added softly, “Like you didn’t realise you were missing something until he touched you.”  
  
Hermione watched her in surprise. “Yes. How do you know?”  
  
“Because that’s exactly how I feel with Harry,” Ginny mumbled and looked down on the ground. “Ever since we first met at King’s Cross, I’ve felt this incredibly strong connection between us, like nothing I’ve felt before. And he never seemed to notice. But you know all that. I told you, but I never told you that I tried to stop feeling like that, did I?”   
  
Hermione shook her head, patting her friend’s arm in comfort.  
  
Ginny got a pained expression. “I had read about a numbing potion. It was in my third year. I tried to brew it and got caught by Snape. He, of course, sent me directly to Dumbledore and demanded that I got expelled. I told Dumbledore everything. Do you know what he told me?”  
  
Hermione shook her head. She had never heard this before. Sure, there had been this one time in Hermione’s fourth year when Ginny had had detention for two weeks with Professor Snape, but it was around the same time Hermione tried to get Harry and Ron to talk to each other again and she hadn’t really had time to inquire what Ginny’s problems had been about. Besides, Gryffindors got detention from Snape for the silliest, tiniest transgressions. Hermione had never thought it could’ve been something important.  
  
“He told me he thought Harry and I were Soul Mates.”  
  
That had Hermione gaping. Could it be …?  
  
“Yeah, sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” Ginny said, misreading her expression. “It got my hopes up, though. Dumbledore said that Harry wasn’t free to control his soul just yet. I never really got that. Well, until Harry told me that he had been carrying around a part of Voldemort all the time. Not that I’m sure I believe Dumbledore. It could just have been him trying to comfort me. But he did say that Harry would come around, just like you said. Just give him time, he said. And well, that worked out fine, so … But I don’t know. Dumbledore never really went into details about what it meant. He only said that once we were together, it would be worth it. That he got right, at least.”  
  
The wheels in Hermione’s mind were spinning like crazy. Had Dumbledore known about Soul Mates? Then, there must be some knowledge somewhere about it, despite what Voldemort had said. Perhaps he just hadn’t read the right book? Dumbledore had been over a hundred when he had died and had had lots of time to read all sorts of books. How could she possibly find out where he had got the knowledge? Too bad he was dead so she couldn’t ask him.  
  
Wait.   
  
Just because someone was dead in the Wizarding World didn’t mean they were gone. Dumbledore’s portrait was still at Hogwarts. If she could, somehow, find a way to talk to him, then she might come to understand what this thing she had with Voldemort was!  
  
Feeling like she was finally getting somewhere in this maddening circus that was her and Voldemort, she started to ask Ginny more about what she and Harry had been up to.

 

xxx

  
Once Hermione left, Voldemort decided to take a small nap before doing anything else. All that fighting and sex had made him a bit tired. In fact, he was so tired he didn’t notice a shadow over the bookcases. Neither did he see it creeping towards him when he had closed his eyes. When the shadow reached him, he was already asleep.  
  
However, it wasn't long until he was awakened by his three-and-a-half-year-old daughter who had a serious expression on her face.  
  
“ _So that is sex_ ,” she said matter-of-factly in Parseltongue.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow and sat up in the couch where he had been taking a nap. “ _How did you find out about sex?_ ”  
  
“ _Shadow friend told me sex is when you are kissing and hugging naked._ ” Althea giggled. “ _It looked icky.”_  
  
“ _It is very icky.”_  
  
Shadow friend, huh, why did that sound so familiar? Voldemort frowned. He was sure he had heard it somewhere, but when? Had Althea talked about a shadow friend before? Yes, she had. Right, it was her imaginary friend. Where children got all their fantasies from, he would never know. Behind his back, the black shadow crept over the wall and disappeared through the window.  
  
“ _Then,_ _why did you and Mum do it?”_  
  
Voldemort yawned and stood up. “ _Because adults have forgotten how to play properly,_ _and therefore,_ _they do icky things instead. So I don’t advise_ _you to try it.”_  
  
“ _Why not?”_  
  
Voldemort tried to think about a good metaphor. “ _It’s like kidney pie.”_  
  
As he had expected, Althea wrinkled her nose. “ _Kidney pie is icky,_ _too.”_  
  
“ _Children think so,_ _yes, but not adults. It’s the same with sex. It’s only something an adult can appreciate.”_  
  
“ _Yucky._ ”  
  
He nodded. “ _So if anyone asks you if you want to play sex, tell them no. It’s icky. And then call for me.”_  
  
Althea nodded seriously.   
  
Well, that was one less issue to worry about. He would already have to kill anyone that dared to look at his daughter; he didn’t need Althea to start searching for someone to “play sex with”. Not that he believed she understood the full concept of it. Hugging and kissing naked. Well, that was a part of it. Drilling into the partner was another.  
  
“ _Why did your shadow friend talk about sex, by the way?_ ” he asked, interested.   
  
Where could Althea have heard about sex, anyway? Or had she just figured out what it was when she saw him and Hermione having sex? That wouldn’t be too strange. She was his daughter, after all. Doomed to be clever.  
  
“ _Friend said that you and Mum were naughty for doing it.”_  
  
Voldemort scoffed. Naughty, indeed.  
  
Speaking of naughty, this would be an excellent time to snoop around the place where he hadn't had time to snoop before: Hermione's bedroom. He made his way into the other room with Althea on his heels.  
  
“ _Does this mean you are Mum’s boyfriend now?”_  
  
“ _It’s a bit complicated, dear.”_  
  
Voldemort went to Hermione's closet and opened the first drawer, but it only contained socks and tights.  
  
“ _Why? You kiss.”_  
  
“ _There is a bit more to being a boyfriend than kissing, Althea. Why do you want me to be your mother’s boyfriend anyway?”_ He looked over his shoulder and found his daughter looking at him with big, innocent eyes. “ _Well?”_  
  
“ _Boyfriends give toys.”_  
  
“ _What?”_  
  
Althea nodded seriously. “ _That mean boy at the Burrow told me. Did you know burrow is where animals live?”_  
  
“ _Actually, I did know that.”_  
  
Nothing in the other drawer either, just some T-shirts. Three more drawers to go.  
  
“ _Are the Weasleys animals?”_  
  
That had him laughing out loud. “ _Sometimes I think so. But no, they are wizards.”_  
  
“ _So why do they live in a burrow?”_  
  
“ _They are poor and blood-traitors.”_  
  
“ _What’s blood-traitors?”_  
  
Voldemort stopped his rummaging. He hadn’t actually meant to say that. Children always seemed to repeat the worst words, and it wasn’t likely Althea would pick up the term “blood-traitors” from Hermione. If anyone did hear Althea utter that word, they would no doubt ask her where she had heard it. That could lead to more uncomfortable questions. But it was such an easy word in Parseltongue, and well, they were. Now he had said it, it wasn’t like he could just take it back. Hence, he decided to explain it. After all, sooner or later Althea needed to know this. He would just have to make sure she didn’t repeat it some other way for now.   
  
“ _That’s when someone betrays their blood standard. You see, there is_ _good blood and bad blood in the world. Wizards have good blood.”_  
  
“ _Grandma isn’t a wizard.”_  
  
“ _No, she isn’t.”_  
  
He opened the drawer second to the bottom. Here was where she kept her trousers and skirts. Nothing fun or even remotely interesting.  
  
“ _How do you know if you have good blood, then?”_  
  
It was remarkable how patient he was when it was his own child he was speaking with. If any other child, or adult for that matter, had asked him this many questions in a row, he would probably have tortured that person. However, with Althea he found it rather amusing. Perhaps it was because they spoke in Parseltongue? He got so few opportunities to do that these days.  
  
“ _Your blood is good because it’s the same as mine,”_ he replied.  
  
Althea jumped down from the bed and came over to him. “ _What about Mum?”_  
  
He hesitated. “ _Your mother is a special case.”_  
  
They watched each other for a short moment. Then she said, “ _Mum keeps her secret_ _things in there.”_ She pointed at the nightstand.  
  
When he tried the handle, it was locked. He arched an eyebrow at his daughter. She smiled broadly and left the bedroom. He chuckled. His blood, indeed, he thought and used his wand to unlock the drawer.  
  


xxx

  
“The fish in this pond were bred by none other than Minister Cassiopeia. You know all about her from school, I trust?” asked the nice, old lady who was the owner of the garden they were standing in.  
  
Hermione and Ginny both nodded, having read about all the Ministers of the last twenty centuries in History of Magic at Hogwarts.  
  
“Is it true the fish have healing abilities?” Ginny asked, completely in awe over all the wonders in the garden.  
  
“Oh, yes, my dear. St. Mungo’s Healers come over every month for the eggs. Hence, they are both useful and beautiful to look at,” the lady answered, looking quite smug.  
  
She probably thought the deal was made, and Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny put in a reservation straight away. This was by far the nicest place for a wedding they had seen so far during this very long day.  
  
At the first two places, their visit had gone fairly quick, but at the third place, the owner had practically begged them to hire his location. He wouldn’t let them go until he had explained every upside there was to his place. He even went so far as to lend Ginny a traditional wedding robe to give her the “true feeling” of the place. After two hours, they had practically run from him.  
  
They had celebrated their escape with dinner, much to Hermione's relief. She had been starving, since she had missed lunch. She had hoped the last place on Ginny’s list for potential wedding locations would take a swift visit. However, the old lady had insisted on a tour, and, in retrospect, Hermione was glad they had agreed. The place was indeed beautiful and had an interesting history.  
  
However, now, it was already dark, and Hermione felt a bit unnerved about leaving Althea together with Voldemort for too long. Even though he had seemed honest in his promise not to do anything, Hermione was still nervous. Even if he didn't hurt Althea, he wasn’t above putting ridiculous notions in her head. At the same time, it was such a relief to be away from Voldemort. The last two days had been the longest in her life, and it felt so nice to just be with Ginny and not worry about a thing. Although, of course, she did worry about Althea.  
  
“Ginny?” she asked her friend in a low voice as they walked behind the lady to the next place in the garden they simply _had_ to see. “Will it be okay if I leave? I don’t feel it’s right to leave Marcus alone with Althea for this long.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Ginny said understandingly. “I will definitely take this place. Merlin, it will be so beautiful. Thank you for joining me.”  
  
Hermione smiled. “My pleasure.”  
  
After giving Ginny a quick hug and saying good-bye to the lady, Hermione Apparated away.  
  
When she came to the flat, she had to force herself to open the door and not run away again. She had no idea what he planned to do to her. Even if he couldn’t torture her anymore, there were still a lot of things he could do to make her life miserable. She didn’t look forward to that.  
  
In the end, the mother inside of her won. She would never leave her daughter for longer than she absolutely had to, no matter what Voldemort would do to her.  
  
Entering the flat, she heard the soft hissing of Parseltongue. She hung her coat on the coat hanger and removed her shoes before she stepped into the room. Voldemort was sitting with a sleepy Althea on his lap, reading something from a book. She was already dressed in her pyjamas and probably ready to go to sleep at any moment.  
  
Voldemort looked up at her when she entered the room but didn’t stop reading. She frowned as she recognised the tome in his hands. It was _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , the first edition, written in runes. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised Lord Voldemort knew how to read runes. Since she couldn’t understand what he was saying, she curiously went to the couch and looked at what story he was reading. It was _The Warlock’s Hairy Heart_. Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, which he ignored.  
  
When he reached the end, Althea asked something in Parseltongue. Voldemort chuckled and stroked her hair, answering in Parseltongue. For some reason, Hermione didn’t think she would like what he was saying. However, he then turned to English.  
  
“Are you going to say good night to your mother, Althea?”  
  
Althea didn’t lift her head from Voldemort’s chest, but she did look up at Hermione. “Good night, Mum.”  
  
“Have you brushed your teeth?” Hermione asked her daughter.  
  
Althea nodded.  
  
“Alright, good night, then.”  
  
Voldemort stood up and carried the almost sleeping girl to the bedroom. Just a few minutes later, he came back out and closed the door. Hermione felt the tension rise at once. The last time they had been alone, he had tortured her, and then, they had had sex. What would happen now? Even though he had sworn not to torture her magically anymore, she knew he could do a lot of unpleasant things without a wand as well, and she didn’t want that right now. Somehow, they would have to come to some sort of truce. Otherwise, the anxiety in her stomach would eat her alive.  
  
“Did she brush her teeth?” Hermione asked him, going for something innocent.  
  
“Yes, she did. If you’d rather believe me than her,” he said coldly and sat down on the couch next to her.  
  
Hermione sighed.  
  
“I don’t see why you would lie about this,” she said, making sure her voice was even. “But can you really blame me for not trusting you? Marcus Foster?”  
  
He gently took her hand in his, making her cringe a little, but she didn’t withdraw when he just held her hand.   
  
“It’s not about trust. It’s about fact. I’m always right.”  
  
That made her snort. “Right, and I’m really Bellatrix Lestrange.”  
  
“Funny you should mention Bella. She always knew I was right.”  
  
“And look what happened to her: She got locked up in Azkaban, became mad and, in the end, she was killed by Molly Weasley.”  
  
He grimaced. “Fine. But either way, I am right. Especially about the fairies.”  
  
“And when you can show me some evidence supporting your statement, I’ll believe you,” she stated.   
  
Putting it this way would hopefully lead to him dropping the subject. She would look into the fairy thing as well as the “Soul Mate” thing. However, until that, it was probably best to neither call him a liar nor believe him fully.  
  
Alas, he was not in a compromising mood. “I am an authority. My word is evidence.”  
  
“We could sit here and argue about this all night. I still won’t believe you,” Hermione growled, feeling an upcoming headache.   
  
She had to throw his interest in another direction, or this would lead to something similar of what had happened this morning. But what could she tell him that would make him drop the subject?  
  
“Or we could talk about the fact that Ginny realised you are Althea’s father,” she said quickly, before he had time to come up with a retort to her first sentence.  
  
Voldemort stared at her for a few seconds. “What?”  
  
“Apparently, you look alike,” Hermione said, thankful they were finally talking about something else. Although, what if this led him to do something to Ginny? Oh, fuck.  
  
“But how can that be? This isn’t your true appearance, right?” she quickly asked, hoping he wouldn’t focus too much on Ginny.  
  
She could see Voldemort’s mind working and held her breath, hoping whatever he was about to say wouldn’t lead to something harmful to Ginny.  
  
“Yes, this is my true appearance. It just isn’t my first appearance. But the magic that changed my body was very permanent. I guess it’s not surprising that it even changed the genes I passed on to her.”  
  
“But you are still a Parselmouth,” she said, relieved that he didn’t seem angry at Ginny.  
  
“It only changed my appearance. Or well, some of the organs as well. But not what makes me … well, me.”  
  
“How did you manage that?” she asked, now getting curious.  
  
“There are potions for these sorts of things,” he replied smugly.   
  
When his thumb started to stroke her hand, she remembered that he was still holding it. She hadn’t really noticed the increased pleasure in her body at first. Only that it felt right. Was she getting so used to touching him? Also, why wasn’t she withdrawing her hand? Shouldn’t she want to stop touching him? He was Voldemort, for crying out loud! Just earlier that day, he had tortured her! How could she be all cosy with him now?  
  
Yet, for some incomprehensible reason, she wasn’t withdrawing from him.  
  
“What else did Ginevra say?” he suddenly asked, interrupting her train of thought.   
  
“A lot. Although, I don’t think you are very interested in her wedding plans,” Hermione said, trying not to become nervous. She had to make Ginny appear as if she weren’t a threat at all.  
  
Voldemort snorted. “Hardly. Although, I don’t believe all Ginevra Weasley would say when she found out that you are shagging your teacher is ‘Oh, he must be Althea’s father’.”  
  
Hermione sighed. Well, she definitely wouldn’t tell him about what Ginny had told her about Dumbledore and how she and Harry could be Soul Mates. Even though Voldemort didn’t seem to be on a must-kill-Harry-Potter mission anymore, she didn’t want to give him anything that could be considered a weakness for Harry. Telling him that Ginny was possibly Harry’s Soul Mate could indeed count as a weakness.  
  
“She is surprised,” Hermione said instead. “And I think she also thinks you are taking advantage of me.”  
  
He laughed and then pushed her onto her back gently, moving on top of her. Hermione allowed it. If they were to have sex (and the idea didn’t disturb her nearly as much as she would like), then at least she couldn’t get Ginny in any more trouble.  
  
“You denied that I was taking advantage of you, I hope?” Voldemort asked, smirking.  
  
She sighed and nodded.  
  
He kissed her forehead. “Good. Now, do you mind telling me what this is?” He reached behind the cushion and pulled out something long, thin, purple and metallic.  
  
Hermione blushed, immediately getting embarrassed. She scowled at him. “That drawer was locked.”  
  
“Was it?” he replied innocently and stroked her cheek with the cold toy. “Oh, well. Now, where does this go, I wonder?”  
  
Hermione could feel herself heating up as he moved the vibrator down her body. Was she giving in too easily? Even though she was glad the conversation had moved far away from her friends, there were still other things for them to talk about. She should put up boundaries so he wouldn’t try to control every aspect of her life. Besides, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with torturing her. She was an independent woman and …  
  
He made her pants disappear with a flick of his wand and then started to run the vibrator over her cunt.   
  
“Now, I wonder what will happen if I turn this.”  
  
Hermione gasped when he put the vibrator on top speed and pressed it against her clit. His eyes gleamed. All thoughts about talking and being independent flew out the window. She craved him.  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Nerys and Serpent in Red for betaing.

**Chapter 15**  
  
Voldemort woke up, panicking when he felt someone lying next to him. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that it was Hermione and that he had fallen asleep again. What was wrong with him? No one was trustworthy enough to sleep with! Yet, with Hermione, he had fallen asleep every time he had spent the night with her.  
  
He watched the clock standing on her nightstand. Five in the morning. He had slept for five hours. Groaning quietly, he rubbed his hands against his face. Perhaps it was due to all the sex they had been having? He just couldn’t stop himself when she was near. Never before had he allowed someone to touch him as much as Hermione did. He even _made_ her touch him.  
  
What had happened to him? The most feared man in the whole world, turned into a lovesick puppy by a Mudblood.  
  
Not able to stand the rage that came from the confusion, he got out of bed, careful not to disturb her. With a flick of his wand, he dressed before he Apparated under a Silencing Spell. He landed in Moscow. It was already morning there, and when he stepped out on the street, he felt himself starting to focus, forgetting the confusion. Salazar, he needed a good kill. He wanted to see blood and hear screams and pleading, just so he knew he hadn’t lost himself somewhere deep inside Hermione’s cunt.  
  
A man walked by him, speaking quickly in Russian on one of those new phones you could bring everywhere. He was well-dressed, and from the conversation he was having, he seemed to be some sort of politician. Voldemort followed him. It was funny how no one seemed to be worried about being taken away in the morning. It was the night everyone worried about.  
  
Keeping his distance, he waited until the man turned away from the main street and into some sort of enormous office building. Voldemort followed, acting like he belonged inside the building just like everyone else. He smirked when the man didn’t go into the full lifts but decided to take the stairs instead. Now he had finished his call and looked rather frustrated. Voldemort sped up. When they were in the middle of the stairway, out of sight from the lobby, he could grab the man and Apparate away. He had his own special location for these sorts of things.  
  
The Muggle didn’t get scared right away when Voldemort Apparated them to the old factory in the middle of nowhere. Instead, he yelled and threatened Voldemort with some mafia connections while Voldemort tied him to a chair. However, when Voldemort didn’t say anything, the man seemed to get more worried. He started to ask Voldemort questions. It was the usual rubbish: “Who are you?”,  “Do you have any idea who I am?”, blah, blah, blah. In the end, he asked the question Voldemort was longing to hear.   
  
“What do you want?”  
  
Voldemort, his Russian almost perfect, answered, “I want to start by picking out your eyes. There will be no need for you to see what I will do to you. I only need you to feel. And scream. Do you think you can manage that?”  
  
He could.  
  
It was seven o’clock when he Apparated back to Hermione’s flat, feeling much more at ease with himself and also quite horny. Without waking her, he climbed into bed again and slowly began to stroke her body. Hermione sighed in her sleep, starting to wake up. His fingers found their way between her labia, finding her wet. He increased the wetness by massaging her clit for a moment before he pushed inside of her.  
  
That woke her up fully. “Good morning,” she said breathlessly, moving against him.  
  
“Good morning,” he purred.   
  
And it really was.

 

xxx

  
 _I’m_ _living in denial,_ Hermione reflected as she sat in the big classroom, watching Voldemort lecture. Even though she now knew who Marcus Foster really was and hated him for it, she couldn’t stop herself from spending time with him. Every morning, she decided that she wouldn’t fall for him again. She would fight and she would put up some boundaries and she would definitely not sleep with him. Alas, every night, she found herself falling into an exhausted sleep in his arms after yet another orgasm. She just couldn’t touch him without losing control. And since he made sure to touch her as much as possible, she was just … screwed.  
  
“A Metamorphmagus can change their appearance at will,” Voldemort said. He was standing on the stage, leaning against his desk. “There are countless of theories on why this is. All we really know is that it’s genetic and extremely rare. In the whole world, there are only around forty wizards with this ability. Interestingly enough, studies have shown wizards and witches inheriting it from a Muggle parent or even grandparents. Here in Britain, we have one reported case of this happening. A half-blood witch, now deceased …”  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together. It was amazing how careless he could talk about his victims. Sure, Hermione wasn’t certain Voldemort had killed Tonks. However, she had died during the final battle and thus, on Voldemort’s orders. Merlin, she couldn’t believe she was actually allowing herself to sleep with Lord Voldemort! Well, Voldemort rarely seemed to take no for an answer. Just the other night, she had tried to tell him she would rather spend a night alone, but somehow, he had managed to make her forget about her wish. It hadn’t been until much later, when she was too exhausted to move, that she had realised he had manipulated her with sex again.  
  
“As postgraduates, you are expected to learn how to transfigure your own appearance the same way a Metamorphmagus does,” Voldemort continued as he waved his wand at the board behind him. The name of one of their course books showed up, next to page numbers. “You’ll find the best instructions here. But this is really hard work. All of you, I hope, are able to use a glamour to look like someone else. However, why can it be dangerous to rely on glamours all the time?”  
  
A dozen of hands flew up in the air. Hermione’s was not among them. She didn’t want him to look at her with those hot, piercing eyes. To her great distress, it always made her horny.  
  
“Because of the shimmer,” a young man Voldemort had pointed at answered. “Since a glamour is only an illusion, from some angles, a shimmer is visible. Also, there is always a risk that the glamour appears to be a bit two-dimensional. It depends on how good the caster is.”  
  
Voldemort nodded. “Yes, however, if the caster is too weak to make a three-dimensional glamour, this type of magic is not appropriate. Why is transfiguration of the appearance so dangerous?”  
  
Hermione bit her lip, wanting to answer. However, she kept her hand down.  
  
“It’s because it’s very taxing,” Cynthia Bernard answered instead. “The human body is used to being a certain way. It takes a lot of energy to maintain the transfiguration unless you are a Metamorphmagus, because then, the appearance is, for some reason, so used to changing that it can be any way you like.”  
  
“Indeed,” Voldemort answered. “Therefore, if you want to transfigure you own body this way, you first have to know your own body extremely well—down to every single molecule. Only then can you start to change it. That is also why it’s so hard to do _this_ form of transfiguration on another person. You have to know what is there to begin with to be able to change it.”  
  
But Voldemort had found some way to change his appearance for real, with a potion. However, it didn’t seem like something any normal person could do. He had asked the fairies for help. They were such helpful creatures. Her stomach began to hurt. Every time she thought about the fairies, she suddenly felt this worry inside her. She had no idea why. After all, she had no reason to doubt the fairies. Morgana had been quite clear about that.  
  
“ _We want nothing but good in the world. Tom Riddle forced us to help him! You have no idea how much we regretted it afterwards. Revealing his secret to_ _you was the only way we could think of to help you.”_    
  
Morgana had looked so sincere when she’d said it, Hermione had completely believed her. Yet... why did she have a horrible feeling that she was forgetting something about the encounter? Hermione rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache form. Merlin, she was under too much stress to begin with. There was no reason to start questioning her encounter with the fairies. What bad things could they possibly do?  
  
“For the next several weeks, I expect you to train at this type of transfiguration of your bodies,” Voldemort just said when she turned her attention to him again. “However, I thought we would begin small. Try to only transfigure one of your fingers. Make it bigger, smaller, longer or shorter. Make sure to really feel everything in the finger before you try to change it, and then, say the spell as you focus on how you want the finger to change. I’ll walk around, helping you if you need it.”  
  
He walked down from the stage as everyone took up their wands and books.  
  
“Merlin, I can’t believe he lets us try something like this already!” Victoria Cole said nervously.   
  
Hermione and Victoria had already made it a habit of sitting next to each other.  
  
“I think you’ll do fine,” Hermione reassured her as she flipped through her book, wanting to read about the spell before attempting it. Her focus hadn’t been the best today.  
  
She and Victoria were already trying to do the spell when she saw the two young women in the row in front of them call for Voldemort’s attention.  
  
“I just can’t change it at all,” one of them said to him, holding up her pinkie in the air.   
  
Hermione couldn’t remember what her name was, but she was one of the prettier students in the class. Her brown hair was thick and shiny, and the still suntanned hand she held up seemed newly manicured.  
  
Hermione felt a very strange sensation in her chest when she saw Voldemort take the other woman’s hand.  
  
“You have to know what you got to begin with,” he said to the girl. “You are trying to change this finger, right? Well, then you have to feel it yourself first, like this.”  
  
He slowly ran his own fingers over her pinkie. Hermione felt like growling. Right then, Voldemort glanced up at her. For a moment, she almost thought he was smirking at her, but then, he looked down at the other woman again, continuing to give her instructions.  
  
Hermione was in a foul mood for the rest of the class. When she got back to her own flat, she actually slammed the door shut.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Miss Cooper looked up with a worried expression. She was sitting on the couch, knitting.  
  
Hermione grimaced. “No, not really. Just a bad day in school.”  
  
“Mum!” Althea came running from the bedroom and threw herself around Hermione’s legs. “Mum, I make a sholl.”  
  
Hermione arched her eyebrow. “A what?”  
  
Althea took a hold of her hand, dragging her into the bedroom. “Look!”  
  
She made her way up on the bed and then rolled over it, with her head first. “See?”  
  
“Very good, Althea,” Hermione praised her daughter, her mood lightening somewhat.  
  
“Yes, she has been practising the whole day,” Miss Cooper said, coming up behind Hermione. “But now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I will take my leave.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Hermione said and followed Miss Cooper out to the hall. “Same time on Friday, then?”  
  
“I’ll see you then, dear,” Miss Cooper said and left.  
  
Right after Hermione had closed the door, Voldemort Apparated into the flat. Hermione felt her bad mood come back with a vengeance. Before she had time to say anything though, Althea ran up to him, hissing happily in Parseltongue. Hermione didn’t have to understand the language to know that Althea wanted to show her new ability to her father as well because the next moment, the girl had pulled him into the bedroom.  
  
Hermione grimaced. Now that Althea had seen him, it would be impossible to get rid of him—no matter how much Hermione wanted him to go. Althea was too fond of him. The one time he had had to leave for a meeting, Althea had cried unstoppably for almost a half an hour.  
  
“What an amusing daughter we have,” Voldemort said when he came out, apparently leaving Althea to her own games.  
  
“Hilarious,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth.  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” he asked innocently.  
  
She scowled. “Do you always have to be here?”  
  
He fell down on the couch. “Why, of course. You are here, after all.”  
  
She huffed, crossing her arms. There was no reasoning with the man. At least she hadn’t found a way to reason with him yet.  
  
“Has this foul mood of yours anything to do with the fact that you are jealous?” he asked, smirking.  
  
The question caught her off-guard. “I’m not jealous.”  
  
“No, of course not, you were simply worried over the welfare of your classmate when you saw me helping her,” he teased her.  
  
“Why would I care about that?” Hermione asked and walked over to the couch. “Although, if they knew who you were, they would be running as fast as they could in the opposite direction.”  
  
He looked so amused. “Certainly. But why would I tell them when it is so much more fun to have them try to flirt with me? Especially since you become so jealous when they do.”  
  
“I’m not jealous!” Hermione cried.   
  
It was ridiculous. Why would she care if he flirted with someone else? Sure, she didn’t want him to flirt with anyone else, but that had nothing to do with jealousy. Nothing good could come out from him flirting with another person. He only acknowledged people he could use.  
  
Voldemort, however, just laughed at her. Before she could stop him, he pulled her down onto his lap. She tried to get off him, but he moved them around on the couch so he was lying on top of her. He grinned at her as she made an attempt to push him off. When he grabbed her wrists, a bolt of pleasure ran through her body. His breath was hot against her skin as he kissed her throat all the way up to her ear.   
  
“You were jealous, even though you have nothing to worry about, Hermione. Why would I care about some half-blooded slut when I have you at my disposal?”  
  
Hermione didn’t want to moan but couldn’t prevent it from leaving her lips.  
  
“All mine, now and forever,” he whispered.  
  
Before Hermione had time to protest, he was snogging her senseless, and it didn’t take long until she forgot everything but his touch.  
  
It wasn’t until much later that night, when Voldemort was asleep next to her, that the guilt   
from earlier returned. Why did he have so much control over her? Why couldn’t she tear herself away from him? It had to have something to do with the Soul Mate-thingy. If only she could find out more about it, then maybe she could break his hold on her. Or, at least, have something to bargain with.  
  
Hermione thought back to her conversation with Ginny.   
  
If Dumbledore did indeed know something about the matter, then perhaps she should try to contact him? However, his portrait was hanging inside McGonagall’s office at Hogwarts. How was she supposed to get to see him there?  
  
The answer hit her like lightning. Dumbledore had been a Transfiguration Master. He had written a lot of essays about Transfiguration. Everyone who mattered knew that Hermione was studying Transfiguration. It wouldn’t seem too weird if she wanted to see her old headmaster regarding some issue she had with one of his essays. Now that she thought about it, she recalled a text she had read last year in Australia that had been written by Dumbledore. The theory had been quite complex.  
  
Filled with a new resolve, Hermione started to make her way out of bed. She froze in fear when Voldemort’s hand grasped her arm.  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice muffled against the pillow. He was lying on his stomach; his eyes were still closed, and he sounded half asleep.  
  
“Eh, just have to … powder my nose?” Hermione lied, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. What would he do if he found out what she was planning?  
  
Voldemort chuckled tiredly and let go of her. “If you have to poop, just say so.”  
  
“Yes, well …” Hermione trailed off, shaking her head, her heart slowing down. Voldemort had given her a solid excuse to leave the bed for the time it took her to write a letter.  
  
She rose and hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She had an old notebook as well as pencils in there. You never knew when you got an idea for an assignment. Hermione hated not being able to write it down immediately, no matter where she was.  
  
After ten minutes, she had managed to compose a short letter to McGonagall, explaining her fake reason to want to see Dumbledore’s portrait. The problem would be sending the letter without Voldemort noticing. Or, maybe not. He always left earlier when Miss Cooper was due. If Hermione hurried, she would have time to visit the school’s Owlery before the lecture on Friday.  
  
Her mind set, she hid the letter in one of the bottom drawers under the sink. At the last moment, she remembered to flush the toilet and wash her hands before she went back to bed.  
  
For the rest of the week, she was too busy either enjoying him or feeling guilty about enjoying him that she didn’t notice Voldemort was going through a similar pattern. She never saw that he disappeared in the middle of the night, and she never questioned the morning shag.  
  
Two weeks had gone by since she found out about him when she came home to find him on the couch, looking grim. She had only been in the library for a couple of hours after Althea had gone to bed, looking up a few things for a paper.  
  
“What?” she asked, worried that Althea had done something.   
  
She quickly walked to the bedroom door and glanced inside, but her daughter was sleeping peacefully in her bed. Frowning, she threw her schoolbag next to the coffee table and sat down at the opposite side of him, in the armchair.  
  
“An owl came while you were away,” he answered coldly and pulled a letter out. A broken Hogwarts insignia was clear on the back; clearly, he had opened the envelope.  
  
She reached out for the letter, but he pulled it away, not looking happy. Hermione tried not to show her worry over what the letter could contain and how Voldemort would react to it.  
  
“Care to tell me the real reason why you would want to visit Dumbledore?” His eyes were hard.  
  
“Not at all,” she retorted, hiding her worry under a mask of annoyance. She stood up and tried to get the letter from him.  
  
He swatted her hand away. “I’ll find out one way or another.”  
  
She growled but knew the danger of wrestling him for the letter. He would either use Legilimency on her or fuck it out of her. Since she didn’t want to risk telling him more than she had to, she sank down in the armchair again.   
  
“I think Dumbledore knows about Soul Mates.”  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “And what made you draw that conclusion?”  
  
“That really isn’t your business.”  
  
She could see him thinking and hoped he wouldn’t come to the right conclusion.  
  
“You told Ginevra about us being Soul Mates, and she told you something about Dumbledore.”  
  
“What makes you think that?” she growled, hoping her angry tone would hide her fear. She didn’t want to give him any reason to hurt Ginny.  
  
“Well, I’ve searched every book there is about Soul Mates—which are all utterly ludicrous—and none of them make any connection to anything Dumbledore has ever done. Hence, you must have talked to someone about being a Soul Mate, and since I highly doubt you would tell a stranger that, it must be one of your friends. Ginevra is the only one of your friends who knows about us.”  
  
She sighed. Well, it was close to the truth and didn’t involve the part she didn’t want him to know, namely the fact that Ginny could be Harry’s Soul Mate. At least that was something.   
  
“I didn’t tell Ginny anything. She doesn’t really believe in it, she just … overheard Dumbledore mentioning it to someone before.”  
  
“I can see when you are lying, Hermione.”  
  
“Fine! For some reason I don’t care to explain to you, Ginny found out that Dumbledore knows about Soul Mates. And she told me because she thought there had to be something extraordinary to make me sleep with a teacher.”   
  
She crossed her arms. There, she hadn’t said anything about Harry.   
  
To her great surprise, Voldemort didn’t ask any follow-up questions about that. Instead, he asked: “And how exactly did you plan to tell Dumbledore about us without guilt showing all over your face?”  
  
She grimaced; she hadn’t really thought about that yet.   
  
“I don’t plan to tell him anything about you. If he asks about specifics … well, you are still my teacher, and therefore, I should feel guilty for sleeping with you.” The last things were said in a mumble. Guilt did wash over her every time she thought about it.  
  
Voldemort shook his head. “Dumbledore is almost as good at Legilimency as I am. I can’t risk him finding out about me.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Dumbledore is dead. You know as well as I do that portraits can’t use any magic, let alone Legilimency. Surely, you aren’t afraid of a dead man?”  
  
His eyes narrowed, and she could see that he was angry.   
  
Quickly, she added, “I mean, even if he had been alive, why would he even for a moment think that I could have anything to do with you? That is just so unbelievable to begin with. Besides, you have already put that hex on me to prevent me from saying anything that could lead to you, right? How could he possibly find out?” She could see that he still wasn’t convinced, so she continued, “Also, if _you_ haven’t found anything about Soul Mates now, there probably isn’t anything written about it. Dumbledore may be our only chance to find out what it means. And it’s not like you can ask him, right? Don’t you want to know?”  
  
She could see the anger in his eyes shift to calculation. “Very well. I assume you plan to tell me everything Dumbledore knows about Soul Mates and that it’s completely unnecessary of me to remind you that I’m a master at Legilimency?”  
  
Eyes narrowing, she lifted her head. “Quite.”  
  
He smiled. “Excellent.”   
  
He handed her the letter.  
  
McGonagall’s reply was short but friendly, saying that she would be more than happy to see Hermione and that she usually could be reached in her office between lunch and dinner. Hermione quickly wrote a request for meeting her old professor on Monday since she didn’t have any classes then.  
  
Once that was taken care of, Voldemort waved her over to the couch. Hermione knew what he had in mind, and since sex would most definitely make him lose interest in whatever Ginny could have said, she happily went over to him. Sleeping with the enemy was not as hard when you did it to protect your friends.  
  
However, she would be lying to herself if she said that she only slept with him to help her friends. There was much more to it than that. Even though he was still her enemy and she hated him, there was also a part of her that didn’t. Perhaps she was going mad after spending too much time with him. The truth was she had never felt this way for anyone before. She had had crushes and heartbreaks. Yet … this seemed to be so much more. But it wasn’t love. You needed to be able to trust the ones you loved. Or so she had heard. She didn’t trust Voldemort. Not where it counted at least. He had lied so much to her, and she was certain that if he ever were faced with a choice between her and some sort of power, he would let her go without hesitation. Even if it meant killing her. Because she had only made him swear not to torture her magically anymore. He could still kill her.  
  
Still, she craved him like he was some sort of drug. Her rational mind knew that it was like a drug, and if she ever had to, she would be able to live without him. There would be withdrawal, but she would manage. However, she wasn’t strong enough to quit by herself. Not that she thought he would allow her to quit. He craved her, too. At least she thought so. Why else would he be with her so much? It didn’t fit his profile. Not from what she had gathered from Harry. The most basic thing about Voldemort was that he was a loner. He didn’t need nor want friends or family. He had always done as much as possible by himself. If he, for some reason, had been unable to do something by himself, he hadn’t asked for help; he’d ordered someone to help him.  
  
Yet, here he was.   
  
It wasn’t just sex, even though she sometimes would like to think that. It would be easier to think they were only using each other for sex. Then, she wouldn’t feel so guilty. But it was much more. They talked. Although they seldom agreed with each other, they still talked. And he got her thinking in ways she never had considered thinking before. It scared her. He was such a master of rhetoric that she always had to be on guard to not swallow what he said without thinking. And sometimes, she wasn’t up for that. Sometimes, she was afraid she wasn’t critical enough to hear what he was really saying. She feared even more for Althea than herself, though. The girl was barely four! And Hermione had no idea what Voldemort told her daughter because she couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other. Somehow, she had to make sure Althea grew up to be more like her than Voldemort. Teach her the equal value of all living beings and such things. Because it didn’t look like Voldemort planned to go anywhere for the near future.  
  
It frightened Hermione beyond belief that a very small part of her was happy about that fact.

 

xxx

  
As usual, Voldemort came home a couple of hours before Hermione woke up. He stripped and lay down in bed, feeling like he could finally relax. Two more dead bodies were now floating around in the Pacific Ocean, waiting for a hungry shark or some other human-eating animal. The satisfying feeling of control that killing gave him made him able to act normal around Hermione. Or, well, as normal as he could ever be.  
  
He didn’t care to think of the reason why he had killed over twenty-three people these past two weeks. It would only bring the need for control back. So, he wouldn’t think about how this thing with Hermione scared him. Nope. He would not. Definitely not. Neither would he try to work out exactly what it was he was feeling. That was a big no-no. It would only make him angry since he didn’t know what he was feeling. He had tried reading about what the feeling could be but had come up empty. The feeling just didn’t fit into any explanation he had seen. It wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite, but it was unfamiliar and he didn’t like it. Not at all.  
  
Turning to his stomach, he groaned into his pillow. Damn, why did he have to open that can of pixies?  
  
Their conversation earlier that night had disturbed him. Why was he even thinking about feelings? He didn’t really have feelings! Or well … that could be a question about definitions. He could feel angry and happy, pain and pleasure, lust and disgust. The feelings he didn’t feel were the ones that required empathy. He didn’t feel guilt, compassion, shame, loneliness, love … definitely not love. He could never really understand what people talked about when they claimed they had these feelings. He could mimic it but never connect. This was something he had always been very proud of. However, he didn’t like it when there was something he didn’t understand. Like now, with his feelings for Hermione. It was new, and he had yet to find a way to control it.  
  
This was a problem because Lord Voldemort always needed to be in control. Therefore, he tried to keep to the things he could control. Like the life and death of other persons.  
  
Like her pleasure and pain.  
  
He looked at the time. It was already seven. It meant he could wake her up and once again show her that he was in control over her. With a smirk, he moved the covers away and crawled over her deliciously naked body. He carefully moved her legs apart and lay down between them. He traced his fingertips over the inside of her thighs and into her centre. After only manipulating her clit a little, she began leaking. He pushed a finger inside her and heard her moan in agreement.  
  
As he worked her towards an orgasm, his eyes landed on the scar between her breasts. Dolohov had done that. Voldemort felt a spark of jealousy. Dolohov had marked her and he hadn’t, at least not where it counted. That was just wrong. Lord Voldemort should have his mark on her as well, to prove that she belonged to him. However, it couldn’t be on any visible place. What to do …?  
  
She was whirling underneath his hand when he came up with the perfect place. The inside of her thigh. Only those who wanted something … not approvable would see the inside of her thigh. And then, she would have to explain that she already belonged to someone else.  
  
When she was just a nudge away from an orgasm, he bit down in the flesh of her thigh.  
  
Hermione yelled in pain, and he was glad he had made it a habit to cast a Silencing Spell around Althea’s bed. Hermione tried to pull him away, but he didn’t let go until he was certain he had left a permanent mark. Then, he noted that she was still grinding down against his fingers, even though she was pulling at his hair for him to stop. Satisfied, he moved upwards and let her taste the iron texture of her blood on his lips. He removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock, sending her over the edge. She was all his.  
  
“Why did you do that?”   
  
She winced when he had emptied himself inside her. He chuckled and rolled off her.   
  
“Just wanted to try something new. You seemed to enjoy it.”  
  
She scowled at him. “It will leave a mark.”  
  
“That was part of the plan.”  
  
She smacked his shoulder. “I could just heal it, you know.”  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
“And what makes you so sure of that?”  
  
He rose from the bed and stretched, very pleased with himself. “Because you like to be reminded of me.”  
  
He caught the pillow she threw at him. Laughing, he went into the bathroom. She would leave it there. He was certain of it.

 

xxx

  
Sunday meant dinner at the Burrow for Hermione. Althea, however, had wanted to stay at home with Voldemort. Hermione had not liked how pleased Voldemort had looked, but she knew her daughter didn’t like the other two children at the Burrow. In the end, Hermione had allowed Althea to stay behind. She told the Weasleys that Althea had got a cold and that the nanny was there.  
  
After dinner, Harry asked her if she wanted to take a walk with him, and Hermione happily agreed. She hadn’t been alone with Harry for more than a few minutes since she came back to the UK. Not that there was anything for her to tell him that couldn’t be said in front of others, but sometimes, it was nice when there was just the two of them.  
  
“How is school? I mean, really?” he asked as they walked down the dirt road that led from the Burrow to the village.  
  
“It’s fine. But I’m glad I decided to read it at a reduced pace.”   
  
It wasn’t a lie. Ever since Voldemort started to be with her most of the time, she had got less time to study.  
  
“And how are your school mates?”   
  
Harry sounded worried. She had mentioned that Malfoy was there, and ever since then, Harry had asked if he had done something to her.  
  
“They are fine. I don’t really know any of them. I usually sit with Victoria Cole, you know, that former Gryffindor I mentioned?”   
  
She and Victoria had even been studying together one night, but Hermione wasn’t sure if Victoria had asked her because she wanted them to be friends or if it was because she really needed help. Either way, it had been a much needed relief from Voldemort. Like this was.  
  
“Yeah. Cool. And Malfoy …?”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Hasn’t said a word. He barely looks at me in class, and this week, he seemed really distracted.”  
  
“I guess he is busy throwing a party now that his father is coming home,” Harry muttered darkly.  
  
“What? I thought he wouldn’t be released until next month?” Hermione asked, annoyed.  
  
“There was a fire, and a whole floor was destroyed. Has been a complete nightmare to make room for all the prisoners; hence, they let the ones that were going to be released anyway this year go now.” Harry put the hands in his pockets and kicked some pebble.  
  
“And do you know what caused the fire?” she asked, following his example of putting her hands in her pockets. It was cold outside.  
  
“Some of the guards were trying to set up a new set of wards. It backfired.” The dark circles under Harry’s eyes were given a reason. She patted his arm in sympathy.  
  
They turned left on a lane that led over the field and back to the Burrow.  
  
“Hermione …” Harry hesitated and blushed.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him with a curious smile. Although she wasn’t new to Harry’s blushes, it had been quite some time since she saw him become red like this.  
  
“Hermione what?”  
  
He scratched his neck. “Are you a lesbian?”  
  
Hermione blinked a few times. “No. Why?”  
  
“It’s just, well, Ron and I … or well, mostly Ron, thought that we could set you up on a blind date with this man I know from work. But Ginny stopped him and said that she was sure you wouldn’t be interested in any man we could come up with. I just thought, eh, she emphasised the whole ‘any man’ part.”  
  
Hermione started laughing. “No, Harry. I can, with certainty, tell you that I’m _not_ a lesbian.”  
  
“Okay, good. Or well, if you were, that would be fine, too. I just …” The blush made him look rather cute. “But I guess you don’t want a blind date, anyhow?”  
  
“No, not really,” she answered, chuckling.  
  
“Is it because you have someone already or …?”  
  
She hesitated a moment too long.   
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “You do!”  
  
“It’s complicated, Harry,” she said with a sigh.  
  
“But there is someone?”  
  
“No. Or maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to … I don’t know what I want.”   
  
The subject was making her very uncomfortable. How could she ever explain to Harry that she was having sex with the man who had tried to kill him on numerous occasions?  
  
“Okay. Well, I just want you to be happy, Hermione.”  
  
“I know, Harry. I want you to be happy, too.” She hesitated as well. “But you are happy, right? With Ginny?”  
  
A brilliant smile lit up his tired face.  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank Serpent In Red and Nerys for betaing.

**Chapter 16**  
  
Monday morning, Voldemort’s special “study” group gathered for the second time during the semester for a brunch. His latest conquest was an undergraduate named Rebecca Shacklebolt, the favourite niece of a certain Minister. Since Rebecca’s parents had been murdered during the war, she was now living with the dear Minister. Voldemort was sure he could use her to influence the Minister in due time.  
  
They were sitting together in one of the lounges in the school. Most of them were majoring in Transfiguration, but there were a handful he had managed to snatch from other disciplines. The common factor for them was that they could all be used by him one way or another. They didn’t know this, of course. Miss Shacklebolt was under the impression that her latest paper had been extraordinarily insightful and that he had merely thought she would find it interesting to talk about it with a postgraduate, Mr Richard Turpin. Turpin, in turn, was there because Voldemort had heard he was about to be recruited by the Department of Mysteries once he had finished his doctoral thesis. Voldemort was always very interested in knowing what was going on inside the Ministry, but he had yet to find someone he could get information from in that Department.  
  
William Giles was also one of the few students in the group who wasn’t studying Transfiguration. Instead, he was majoring in Study about the Dark Arts, which, of course, was only taught at Oxford for gaining knowledge for defence purposes. Now, William turned his head to Voldemort. “Did you hear that the Aurors got a lead on the whereabouts of You-Know-Who?”  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow, mildly curious. “Again?”  
  
William chuckled. “Yes, although, this time it seems solid. Some fishermen found dead bodies in the Pacific Ocean. A lot of them. They are being transported to London as we speak. The magical trace on the bodies seems to be from him, but they need to compare it to the samples they have here.”  
  
It didn’t really worry Voldemort, but he didn’t like that he hadn’t heard about it earlier. “Where did you hear this?”  
  
“Oh, from my uncle. It’s very hush-hush, but he asked me to help him do a Dark Arts Trace.”  
  
That made Voldemort very glad. Then, he would be able to keep track on the findings. “Good for you, William! I’m sure you’ll make your uncle very proud.”  
  
The young man beamed. His uncle was one of the top Aurors at the Ministry.  
  
Madeline Nott, the daughter of one of his former Death Eaters and just as much into Dark Arts as her father, snorted. She was sitting next to William, and it was quite clear the snort had been aimed at him.  
  
“What?” William asked, rolling his eyes. There was no love lost between William and Madeline.  
  
“Well, you don’t really expect to find anything that will lead them to You-Know-Who, right?”   
  
Even though Voldemort hadn’t been active for four years, people were still afraid to say his true name. Well, except for Hermione and her friends of course.  
  
William rolled his eyes again. “Duh, Madeline, it’s not why I’m there. I’ll just look at the Dark Arts that had been used. At most, I’ll be able to tell what spells had been at work. But it isn’t sure I will even be able to determine that it was him.”  
  
“Don’t give yourself so little credit, William,” Voldemort replied sweetly. “By being able to find the right spells, you’ll at least be able to rule out a lot of suspects. When it comes to the Dark Arts, very few have the power needed to actually do many of the spells. Take the Curse of Tibet for example. We have all read about it, but when it comes to actually doing it, I’ve only heard about a few wizards –”  
  
“And witches,” Madeline piped in.  
  
“And witches,” he acknowledged, “that have been able to actually perform it. Therefore, if you find traces of that particularly curse on any of the bodies, the Aurors will only have maybe six or seven suspects to go through.”  
  
“Yeah, you are right. And if it really were You-Know-Who, he would probably have used his own spells,” William said, excited. “Oh, it would be so cool if I got to examine a body that had been cursed by a spell invented by him!”  
  
From the opposite side of the table, Peter Wood let out an aggravated sound. “A little compassion wouldn’t kill you, William.”  
  
William blushed. “I-I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
Voldemort pattered the young man’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. And Peter, I’m certain you understand the academic value in it. Besides, what else can we do for these poor humans than make sure their deaths weren’t in vain? Sure, we can grieve, but I always find it more useful to see how I can turn a sad event into an opportunity.” He drank up his tea. “As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  
  
That made them laugh. Voldemort smiled. All of them were his new followers. And no one, not even them, was aware of it. Yet.

 

xxx

  
“Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you again.”  
  
The moment Hermione stepped into her old school, McGonagall was there to greet her with a full smile on her lips. While they walked to the castle, her old Transfiguration teacher wanted to know everything about Australia and her education. When they finally reached the Headmistress’s office, Hermione was in the middle of explaining what she was studying right now. Which brought them to the pretend reason of why she was there.  
  
McGonagall bid her to sit down in front of the mahogany desk in one of the red armchairs. Dumbledore peered down at her from one of the portraits on the wall. Hermione suddenly realised how foolish she had been for thinking she would get an opportunity to speak to him alone. Even if McGonagall would leave the office, there were still thirty other portraits that would listen in on the conversation.  
  
A house-elf came with tea and biscuits, and Hermione thanked the poor creature absentmindedly as she tried to figure out what her next move should be. Perhaps she should just come clean? It was, after all, innocent enough to ask about Soul Mates. However, that wouldn’t explain why she had lied in the letter. Oh, rats.  
  
Dumbledore, however, seemed to be as insightful in death as he had been in life (or Hermione was just plain lucky) because he said: “Minerva, I believe we have a small situation in the Great Hall. I’ll be honoured to entertain Miss Granger in the mean time.”  
  
McGonagall sighed. “Very well. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  
  
She rose and left. Once the door was closed, Hermione gave her old Headmaster a small smile.  
  
“Minerva read your bachelor thesis, Miss Granger, and she was kind enough to summarise it for me. I find it difficult to believe you would have a problem understanding one of my theories,” Dumbledore explained kindly.  
  
Hermione blushed. “Well, I did find that particular theory rather taxing but … I didn’t know if Professor McGonagall would take me seriously if I told her what I was really having a problem with.”  
  
“Oh? Do tell, dear child.”  
  
Hermione weighed her words carefully. “Ginny told me that you had told her that she and Harry may be Soul Mates, and I was wondering what you know about Soul Mates.”  
  
Whatever Dumbledore had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. He blinked in surprised, but then, he moved his glasses up his nose and sighed.  
  
“Soul Mates is obscured magic, Hermione. I don’t know much and what I know I’m not certain whether it’s correct or not.”  
  
“Please, tell me what you suspect. I haven’t been able to find anything of use.”  
  
He regarded her for a moment. “I assume you have already read about Soul Mates in the Divination section, despite your dislike of the subject?”  
  
She grimaced but nodded.  
  
“What is written there is completely bogus,” Dumbledore said with a dismissive gesture. “From what I’ve understood, being a Soul Mate doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with love.”  
  
At least Voldemort would be pleased to hear that.  
  
“Technically, you can hate your Soul Mate. Or just be friends with him or her. The magic involved in it is deeper. Are you familiar with the concept of reincarnation?”  
  
“Of course, but it is viewed differently in different religions. Some, like the Hindus, see it as if the soul travels on to a new creature after death. Others –”  
  
Dumbledore held up a hand with a friendly smile. “Good. There is a Hindu myth which contains the idea that Soul Mates are something that is developed across lifetimes. But what are the odds of meeting the same soul through several different lifetimes?”  
  
Hermione actually did a calculation. The odds were practically non-existent. “But I still don’t understand …?”  
  
“While I don’t think the myth by itself is true, I do believe it holds a seed of truth: The bond that binds Soul Mates together is so strong that it is passed on through lifetimes, and since the bond is so strong, that is why the two parties keep finding each other, even though the odds are against them,” Dumbledore explained kindly.  
  
Hermione frowned. “It sounds like bonds of love to me.”  
  
“It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with love. But you are correct; bonds of love are one of the strongest bonds you can make with another person. If you love someone with your body and soul, that love can be carried on, even in a new life. However, there are other types of bonds as well. Hatred can be carried for a long time, too. Then, there are those made purely of magic.”  
  
Hermione thought about it. “But if you are to believe this myth, you have to accept the concept of reincarnation.”  
  
“Indeed. I told you this is a much obscured subject and I don’t believe in reincarnation. What I do believe is that Soul Mates have something to do with magical bindings on a very, very deep level, like in the soul. The mystical part about it is that you don’t seem to grow into becoming one’s Soul Mate; you already are and you can either find it or not. Therefore, there has to be something else going on, besides mutual love or hatred. The myth that explains it with reincarnation does explain how Soul Mates come to be, and that is what makes it interesting.”  
  
She sat quiet for a moment, thinking this new information over. Then, another thought hit her, and she looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait again. “Did your source tell you how one knows if you have a Soul Mate?”  
  
Dumbledore hesitated. “What did Miss Weasley tell you about herself?”  
  
“I think she told me everything. From how she was caught trying to make a potion to what you said.”  
  
Dumbledore smiled sadly at the memory. “Yes, poor girl. That was, according to my source, how one could act when discovering one’s Soul Mate. Usually, the two parts discover it at the same time when whatever it is that ties them together comes into action again. However, if one is to fight the bond, it will lead to a great distress for both parties, like the one Miss Weasley was in. Although, in Miss Weasley’s case, her Soul Mate didn’t have the opportunity to see her for what she was. At least not fully, and I think that’s why she suffered while Mr Potter didn’t. He couldn’t realise who she was until the piece of Voldemort’s soul disappeared from him.”  
  
Hermione blinked at that. It didn’t make sense. First thing, Harry and Ginny had become a couple while Harry was still Voldemort’s Horcrux. Why would Harry suddenly discover their connection like that? Besides, Hermione had never seen Harry and Ginny behave as passionately as Hermione and Voldemort did when they were touching. Speaking of that, shouldn’t Hermione have felt something for Harry since he carried a part of Voldemort’s – her Soul Mate’s – soul inside of him?  
  
And about the fact that Harry had been a Horcrux …  
  
“Yes, what was that about, by the way? Why didn’t you tell Harry that he was carrying Voldemort around inside him?” Hermione didn’t mean to sound so accusing, but it was something that had bugged her for quite some time.  
  
“An old man’s mistake, Miss Granger. Which is why I now try to be absolutely honest with you. You should try it yourself sometimes. It can feel very relieving.”  
  
Hermione tried not to blush under his piercing blue eyes. It wasn’t like she could tell the truth even if she wanted to. Voldemort’s spell made sure of that.  
  
“Okay. So say that you have found your Soul Mate and he, or she, has discovered you as well. What happens?”  
  
“I’m not certain. I’ve only seen it, never experienced it. However, I do have to say that from what I saw, a very intense connection was formed between the two parties. It reminded me of magnets. They seemed to instinctively be drawn to each other and very reluctant to let go once they were together.” Dumbledore looked a bit uncomfortable as he said it and wouldn’t really meet her eyes.  
  
Hermione grimaced. It did sound exactly like her and Voldemort. “Is there any way to find out more about this? Do you know any books or persons who may know?”  
  
“I’m afraid I do not. The two Soul Mates I met are now dead, and I haven’t had any direct contact with them since the forties; I’ve only heard about them after that.”  
  
She frowned. “Who was it? Maybe I can poke around?”  
  
Dumbledore gazed at her over his half-moon spectacles, his face solemn. “Why are you interested in this, Miss Granger?”  
  
Hermione grimaced. “I rather not say.”  
  
“Being a Soul Mate can be both wonderful and terrible,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Since you can’t decide for yourself who is your Soul Mate, it can turn your life upside down when you suddenly find yourself depending on someone you haven’t known before.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes went wide in shock. Dumbledore’s tone clearly indicated that he had figured something out. What was it? She tried to hide her surprise and worry, but it was too late.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, Miss Granger, I’m quite certain the reason you are asking is because you have found your Soul Mate, and I’m also starting to think that you found him four years ago.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked, trying not to panic.  
  
He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at her gravely. “Both Minerva and I were very surprised when we found out you were pregnant, Miss Granger. Although we both are certain you are an excellent mother, it seemed very … uncharacteristic for you to become pregnant at such young age. We both agreed that there had to be some extraordinary circumstances involved.”  
  
She relaxed a little. It seemed to be all he knew. However, since she didn’t want risk putting Voldemort’s hex in motion, she didn’t say anything and looked down on the table.  
  
“I don’t mean to pry,” Dumbledore said carefully. “But if you want to talk about it, I got all the time in the world. There is little to do when you are just a portrait.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t repress a snort. “Sorry,” she quickly said and looked up at him.   
  
He was watching her with an encouraging expression.  
  
“It’s too complicated to discuss,” she said carefully. “But it would really help if I knew more about this. Can’t you tell me whom you got the information from? Please?”  
  
He sighed, but then he nodded. “It was Gellert Grindelwald.” He looked almost pained. “I don’t know how he found his Soul Mate. All I know is that when he found her, he never let go. Neither did she. She visited Gellert in Nurmengard until she was too old and sick to move. Gellert lost all will to live after she was dead. Harry told me that he witnessed Gellert’s last moments in life, just before Voldemort killed him. He welcomed death. Probably since he hoped that would bring him to his beloved.”  
  
Hermione forced herself not to gape. Ever since she had read Rita Skeeter’s horrid book about Dumbledore, she had wondered about his and Grindelwald’s relationship. They had obviously been friends, but Skeeter had claimed they were lovers as well. Hermione hadn’t believed that, thinking it was yet another of the nasty woman’s lies. Now, however, when she saw Dumbledore’s sad face, she wondered if it could be true. At least the part about Dumbledore feelings for Grindelwald. Apparently, they hadn’t been returned in the same magnitude. Or had they, but Grindelwald’s Soul Mate had just come between them?  
  
“Are you certain you don’t want to discuss this, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked, looking a bit uncomfortable with his revelation.  
  
She bit her lip. “Yes. It would only create too many problems right now. Maybe you’ll hear about it later, but not now. Or do you know if there is any way to stop being a Soul Mate?”  
  
“From what I can tell, not even death will break it,” Dumbledore said gravely.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort was all over her the moment she stepped into the flat, both literary and figuratively.  
  
He helped her out of her outer robe. “What did Dumbledore say? Did he know anything? He didn’t, right? Weasley had just made everything up and–”  
  
She managed to shrug off the robe and then pressed a finger against his lips to silence him. “I’ll tell you everything if you stop fretting.”  
  
Voldemort pressed his lips together and made a gesture for her to come into the living room. Althea was sitting on the floor with a paper in front of her and lots of colourful pencils around her. Hermione leaned down and pattered her daughter’s head. Althea gave her a big smile before returning to the picture. She was using a lot of green, and Hermione got the feeling she was drawing a snake.  
  
“Well?” Voldemort asked impatiently when she sat down in the couch next to him.  
  
“He knew Soul Mates existed and had met a couple who were Soul Mates. He also knew a myth about Soul Mates. Do you believe in reincarnation?”  
  
“Reincarnation?”  
  
She summarised what Dumbledore had told her. Voldemort was wearing a thoughtful expression when she finished.  
  
“Such a shame I killed Grindelwald,” he finally said with a sigh, leaning his head against the back of the couch.  
  
“Yes. But then again, it’s always a shame to kill people,” she muttered and curled her legs up underneath her.  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “How did you know I killed him?”  
  
“Harry told me just after you did it.”  
  
He sighed. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that connection is broken.”  
  
“I think the feeling is mutual,” she muttered dryly.  
  
He didn’t comment on that. “I don’t believe in reincarnation. However, it does seem like there is some sort of bond that runs very deep. But whatever that bond is, it can’t be founded in love.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” she asked. Not that she believed it either, but she wanted to hear his reasoning.  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her. “It can’t be such a shocker for you that I don’t love you, can it? Do you love me?”  
  
Hermione snorted. “No, of course I don’t love you.”  
  
“There you go. And we don’t share any other deep, emotional feelings for each other. Yes, I know you have always hated me,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “But a lot of people have hated me a lot more and a lot longer than you. You don’t see me shagging any of them, do you?”  
  
“No, I guess not.” Hermione had to agree.  
  
Voldemort sat quiet for a short moment, and she could see that he was thinking hard. “Have you been attracted to Potter?”  
  
“No!” Hermione exclaimed; then she realised he had started to think along the same lines she had in Dumbledore’s office. “And I see where you are going, but I never felt any pleasure when I touched him either, despite the fact that he did have a part of your soul inside him.”  
  
Voldemort frowned. “I wanted to shag you like there was no tomorrow the first time I touched you. So did you, I take?”  
  
“I think so,” Hermione said, slowly. “But that night is still rather fuzzy in my mind.”  
  
“Right. Well, at that time, I hadn’t regained my soul yet. The part of my soul I did have was as small as the part inside Potter. So why did you feel pleasure at my touch and not at his?”  
  
Hermione frowned. “Well, maybe because Harry had his whole soul inside him, and that interfered or something …”  
  
She trailed off when she saw him shaking his head.  
  
“I think we are going at this the wrong way. What if being a Soul Mate has nothing to do with one’s soul but is based on something else?”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened as she considered it. “Yes! The term Soul Mate is taken from Plato and his idea that humans once had four arms, four legs and two heads, but when the god Zeus split them up, they were left with just one half of a soul; thus, everyone must have a Soul Mate. But if you don’t agree with Plato’s idea, then the term would be misleading.”  
  
Voldemort nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Exactly. Maybe people have just used the term Soul Mate because they have no better way to explain it. Just because they are using a word doesn’t make it true.”  
  
Hermione nodded eagerly. “So then, maybe the soul is irrelevant, and the whole bond has to do with … what?”  
  
The same question could be read in Voldemort’s eyes as well. “No idea. Regardless, this is one step in the right direction. We’ll find out what it means in due time. At least … oh.”  
  
“Oh?” Hermione asked.  
  
“I just remembered; Grindelwald’s wife was a Muggle-born like you.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “So?”  
  
“So, I’ve always found it strange. Grindelwald despised Muggles as much as I do. He didn’t officially hunt Muggle-borns, but neither did he stop his followers if they killed them.”  
  
Hermione frowned, very uncomfortable with him talking so freely about his hatred for Muggles. Even though she knew it, it was so much harder to stop herself from hexing him when he talked about it. She tried to focus on what they were really discussing. “But I read that Mrs Grindelwald was a half-blood.”  
  
“A lie,” Voldemort dismissed. “I checked it up myself in the fifties.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Voldemort looked at her, suddenly a bit amused. “Curiosity killed the Gryffindor kitten, Hermione.”  
  
She scowled and smacked his arm. He laughed and, in a fast movement, wrestled her down on the couch, trapping her with his arms and legs. She growled and tried to fight free, but all she managed to do was get his cock hard.  
  
Still scowling, she looked up at him. The raw hunger in his eyes made her feel weak. His hand sneaked in under her shirt, making her moan in pleasure. Before she knew it, they were snogging. She could never really get enough of his taste and smell. It was intoxicating and made her lose all concept of time and space. He could do whatever he wanted with her and she would enjoy it.  
  
His hands were inside her skirt, on the skin of her arse, when she was pulled back to real life again by Althea poking her shoulder. Blushing, she let go of Voldemort’s lips and looked at their daughter.  
  
“Yes, honey?”  
  
“Dinner?”  
  
Hermione sighed and made an attempt to rise, but Voldemort held her down. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow. So, he ground his groin against hers.   
  
She scowled. “Not now!”  
  
Even though she was horny as well, she would not have sex with him when her daughter was right next to her. How on earth could Voldemort believe she would do that?  
  
Sighing, he let go of her. She straightened her clothes before she went to start dinner. Voldemort disappeared into the bathroom. Probably to take care of his hard-on. A little while later, he came back out, not looking happy, but he quietly took over her preparation of the food.  
  
They were just sitting down to eat when a strange knocking sound was heard. It sounded like knocking on a door, but not her door. She frowned and looked at Voldemort.  
  
“Oh, right, the spell,” he muttered, as if it explained everything, and rose. Without another word, he Apparated away.  
  
Hermione huffed.  
  
“Where did Dad go?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“I have no idea,” Hermione said bitterly. “We’ll have to ask him when he comes back. Aren’t you going to eat your carrots, dear?”  
  
“Yuck,” Althea said, wrinkling her nose.  
  
“No, they are very tasty, look.” Hermione took a carrot from her own plate and put it in her mouth. “Mmm.”  
  
Althea looked at her with the greatest disbelief.  
  
Hermione took another one. “Mmm. They really are good. But if you don’t want yours, I can take them instead.”  
  
She reached with her fork over to Althea’s plate, but Althea quickly took a carrot and put it in her mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued eating from her plate again.  
  
When a couple of minutes had gone by and Voldemort still hadn’t returned, Hermione put his plate under a Stasis Spell.  
  
“What did’ya do?” Althea asked, as always very curious when Hermione used her wand.  
  
“Just making sure the food will still be warm when your father returns,” Hermione explained.  
  
Another fifteen minutes had passed when Voldemort returned, looking even grimmer than before.  
  
“What was that?” she asked as he removed the Stasis Spell and began to eat.  
  
“I put a spell up so I would hear it if someone were knocking on my door,” he explained, “since I’m never there anymore.”  
  
“True. Maybe you should be at your own place a little more. I mean, how fun can it be to be here all the time?” she asked, one part of her hoping that he would leave her alone for a day. Another part was hoping he would never leave, but she tried to shut that part down.  
  
“Drop it, Hermione. Your cunt is here. That’s all the fun I need.”  
  
“Voldemort!” she growled, glancing at Althea who was watching them with interest.  
  
“What? She doesn’t know what that means.”  
  
Althea hissed something in Parseltongue which made Voldemort grimace. Hermione had a strong suspicion that Althea had just repeated the word. He hissed something back. Hermione crossed her arms, frowning at him.  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Anyway. You’ll be rid of me now, I’m afraid. That was Cox-Trotter. I’ll be going to the Cook Islands tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“Why? For how long?” How could she be both happy and sad at that remark? She did want some time away from him.  
  
“There is a conference there I’ve wanted to go to since I started here. But it’s highly exclusive and secretive, and Oxford only sends their three most exceptional Professors to it. I’m not one of them yet.” The bitterness was clear in his voice. “But apparently, the three that usually get to go are unavailable this year. Hence, I have a chance to leave. And I can’t turn it down.”  
  
“Oh.” It must be exclusive because she had never heard about any conference on the Cook Islands. “What is it about and for how long?”  
  
“Two weeks. And if I knew what it was about, I wouldn’t have bothered to go. I had never heard about it until I began here four years ago.”  
  
That told her a great deal about how secretive this thing was. “So you’ll be staying there all the time during those two weeks?”  
  
“Miss me already, dear?”  
  
“No,” she scoffed, completely ignoring the small part of sadness inside her. “I just want to be forewarned if you plan to drop in every night.”  
  
“Hardly, since it will be day there when it’s night here. I’m afraid you’ll just have to find a way to sleep without me while I’m gone.”  
  
“I will manage,” she muttered. Then, another thought hit her. “But what about the other thing Dumbledore told me? About the pain of being away for one’s Soul Mate?”  
  
“I highly doubt two weeks will make much difference, since four years was no problem for us,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes.  
  
Hermione felt silly for asking. Maybe it wasn’t the physical distance that mattered, but rather the emotional one. Perhaps that was why she had never felt inclined to go on a date, or anything like that, in Australia?   
  
“Fine. But what about this thing with Grindelwald? Shouldn’t we try to find out more about what he knew?”  
  
“Most of Grindelwald’s things were destroyed after his imprisonment. It will be hard to find out if he wrote anything about it, or if he had some other source of knowledge. But leave that to me to find out. It won’t take long.” He finished his meal, and with a flick of his wand, the table was cleared. “Now, since I’ll be gone for some time, why don’t we have a proper good-bye?”  
  
Hermione once again looked from him to Althea. Voldemort sighed.  
  
“Aren’t you tired yet, Althea?” he asked their daughter.  
  
Althea shook her head. Voldemort frowned, his hand tightened slightly over the wand.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” Hermione growled at him and put a hand on her own wand, ready to stop him if he tried to cast any sort of spell on Althea.  
  
“What?” he asked innocently.  
  
“I can see what you are thinking, Voldemort, and if you try to do anything to her, I’ll throw you out the window. Again.”  
  
All amusement disappeared from his eyes, and Hermione realised how utterly foolish it was of her to remind him of that embarrassment. Nevertheless, she straightened her back, determined to stand her ground. She had let him have far too much power over her already. But if he even dared to try anything on Althea again, she would hurt him. Or at least try to.  
  
“The lioness has come out to play, has she?” he asked softly.  
  
“Leave Althea alone,” Hermione repeated firmly, her hand tightening around her wand.  
  
Voldemort said something in Parseltongue, and Hermione could see that he was losing his patience, especially when Althea’s answer sounded whiny. It led to an extremely harsh sounding reply in Hermione’s ears. Apparently, she’d been right about that because tears welled up in Althea’s eyes at an alarming speed. With an angry hiss to her father, she ran to the bedroom. Hermione stood up to run after Althea, but before she had taken more than two steps, he grabbed her.  
  
“Not so fast, dear. It seems you and I need to have another chat,” he muttered into her ear.  
  
Hermione was too angry to be scared. How dare he make her daughter cry? With a snarl, she slashed her wand at him, apparently catching him off guard, because he flew back into the kitchen table. Before he had time to recover, she had raced into the bedroom and was comforting the sobbing girl. She could hear him opening the door and expected him to hex her and drag her back out. But he didn’t.  
  
She could feel his eyes upon her as she calmed Althea down. Despite what Althea had told Voldemort, the young girl did seem to be tired. Hermione helped her daughter change into her pyjamas, made sure she brushed her teeth and tucked her into bed. Not until Hermione was sure Althea was asleep did she meet Voldemort’s eyes. He was furious.  
  
With all the courage she could muster, she straightened her back and walked out of the bedroom. She heard him close the bedroom door and mutter a Silencing Spell.  
  
“You don’t harm me in front of Althea,” she noted, turning around to face him.  
  
His eyes were still filled with fury, but she could see a cold, calculated glimmer in them as well. “No.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The balance between us is very fragile. But as long as Althea loves me, and she does, I’ll be welcomed here. You’ll not deny her anything.”  
  
She crossed her arms as a chill went through her. “Manipulative bastard.”  
  
He walked towards her like a big cat moving in on its prey. “I can live with the name-calling. But not the hexing. That will have to stop.”  
  
“For as long as you deserve hexing, I will hex you,” she replied, but her voice was not as confident as her words.  
  
The smirk told her he noted that as well. “Is that so?” He stopped right in front of her. “Then it would seem I need to find some way to convince you that you are wrong. I wonder what …” He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek, sending pleasuring spikes of energy through her body, like always.  
  
She flinched backwards, but he followed, not breaking the skin-to-skin contact. “What’s the matter, Hermione? Surely you aren’t enjoying the touch of a manipulative bastard who is in need of a good hexing?”  
  
His words cut deeper than she cared to admit, and she couldn’t stop herself from lashing out. “And surely the great Lord Voldemort doesn’t enjoy having conversations with and touching a filthy little Mudblood, does he?”  
  
His eyes narrowed, and he withdrew his hands. “You don’t know the first thing about Lord Voldemort, Hermione.”  
  
“Oh, I think I’ve figured out a thing or two,” she growled. If there were anything she hated, it was when people thought she was stupid.  
  
“Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and soft. He was still standing close to her but didn’t touch her.  
  
“I know why you can’t get enough of me,” she said in a low voice.  
  
He arched an eyebrow.  
  
“You are addicted to the magic we create when we fuck,” she said in triumph. “You can’t stand to be without it.”  
  
Without as much as blinking, he grabbed her around her throat, squeezing. She panicked over the sudden lack of air and tried to struggle. He squeezed harder. She tried to kick him, but he blocked her attacks with his leg, making her lose her balance. The only thing holding her up was his hand around her throat. That wasn’t pleasant at all.  
  
“Don’t for one moment think that you have any power over me, Hermione,” he whispered dangerously.  
  
It began to darken in front of her eyes. She couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.  
  
As suddenly as he had gripped her, he let go of her. She fell down on her knees, her lungs burning as oxygen returned to them. Tears of fear and pain ran from her eyes, and she trembled.  
  
He bent his knees and sat down next to her. She could feel his hand over her hair.  
  
“Do you understand?”  
  
She nodded, hating him with a burning passion.  
  
“Good.” He leaned closer and kissed the top of her head. “I hope you’ll take these two weeks to really look over your priorities in life, my sweet Gryffindor kitten.”  
  
He stood up and Apparated away. Hermione stayed on the floor, unable to stop crying. What should she do?

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Nerys and Serpent in Red for betaing.

**Chapter 17**  
  
Hermione couldn’t sleep that night. Part of it was because she was thinking. Or rather, worrying. She ignored the other part which was aching for another body next to hers. Voldemort had almost strangled her! She would not go to him just because she felt a bit lonely. Instead, after two hours of tossing and turning, she got up to get something to read. She needed to get away from all thoughts of Voldemort, even though she knew she had to come up with some sort of a plan to deal with him. The way things were now wouldn’t work for long. Like he had said, the balance was too fragile. Perhaps they should just … pretend they had never met and would never meet again?  
  
She was quite certain he wouldn’t allow that. Neither did she think she could stand the thought of never seeing him again. It would feel like losing a part of herself. Besides, it wasn’t like she could ever find a man as interesting and arousing as Voldemort. But to what cost?  
  
Exhaustion and desperation made her cry again, blurring the text in front of her. She threw the book away, but the moment she heard it hit the floor, she felt a sting of guilt for treating a book that way. Rising, she retrieved it and made sure no pages had been bent before replacing it on the bookshelf.  
  
Then, she spun around and kicked the armchair. Merlin’s socks! She hated him. She hated him so much!  
  
“ _Expulso_!”   
  
The coffee table exploded into a million pieces, leaving her feeling slightly calmer. She sank down in the armchair, staring unseeingly out the window behind the couch.  
  
After several hours, exhaustion alone made her fall into an uneasy sleep.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort couldn’t sleep. He had no idea why. Or, at least, no idea that he cared to explore further. Because it couldn’t have anything to do with Hermione. And if it did have to do with Hermione, it had to be because he hadn’t got the “goodnight” fuck he was used to. Nothing else. He did _not_ miss her warm body next to him. That was ridiculous.  
  
When he realised sleep wouldn’t come, he stood up again. Perhaps reading would calm his mind? He picked a book at random and sank down on his couch (which, for some reason, wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Hermione’s). However, even though his eyes read the words, his mind didn’t connect to them. Instead, he kept trying to figure out what on earth he would do with her.   
  
Hermione Granger.   
  
When he’d first heard her name, he’d never guessed how important she would become to him. He had just seen her as a Mudblood and Potter’s friend. Two things that would, in the end, result in the same thing: death. Now, he could hardly go a night without fucking her.  
  
Anger overwhelming him, he threw the book away. Then, he realised that it was a first edition of Qumblie. With a grimace, he rose to retrieve it. After making sure no page had been bent, he replaced it on the bookshelf. He stroked the back of the old book and sighed. There would be no use taking his anger out on invaluable books. Perhaps some Muggle-hunting was in order? Sighing, he Apparated away, hoping that the floating blood of filthy, useless creatures would calm him.  
  
It didn’t.   
  
He was in a foul mood when he entered the classroom at ten the next morning. His eyes travelled around the classroom, noting that Hermione wasn’t there. Avoiding him or …?  
  
The door flew open, revealing a stressed Hermione, looking like she had just stepped out of bed. It seemed like someone else had got a restless night. Good. She didn’t deserve any sleep considering the unease she had caused him.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” she muttered before taking a place next to the Cole girl she always sat with.  
  
He pretended not to notice her and looked around the classroom again.   
  
“Good morning. First, I must inform you that there will be a slight change in schedule this week and the next. I’ve been called away, and instead, Professor Sherwood will be holding the lectures. On Thursday, she will also hand out next week’s assignment, and it has to be handed in two weeks from this Friday.” He waited a few minutes as the students wrote it down. “Now, today’s lecture will be about Xioa’s Transfiguration Polarisation.”  
  
Two hours later, he Apparated back to his flat and packed the last of his belongings. The island the conference was held on was Unplottable. No Muggles could ever find it, and few wizards were allowed to know its location. In other words, an excellent, exclusive, wizarding holiday place. Especially now, when summer had just begun down there. Perhaps he should find some sunscreen?  
  
He snorted. Like he would have time to sunbath. No, he was starting to feel tired. Finally. And travelling across the world would, no doubt, make him even more tired. Therefore, best to leave now, check in and get at least a half night of decent sleep. Since it was noon now in England, it would be eleven p.m. at the Cook Islands, thus, perfect time to go to bed.  
  
His backpack packed, he shrunk it and put it in the pocket of his robe. He would have to go to Cox-Trotter to get the specific location to the place. Apparently, that was something of a secret as well. Perhaps he wouldn’t even get to Apparate. Cox-Trotter had only told him to come to her office before departure.  
  
Well, he wouldn’t find out until he was there. Hence, he left his flat and locked the door. Alas, he hadn’t even taken two steps when Hermione appeared in the stairway. A very uncharacteristic loss of knowing what to do occurred to him. He stopped, right outside the door to her flat. When she spotted him, she stopped as well.  
  
He collected his senses first. “Hermione,” he greeted and started to walk again. “Do remember to do what I told you while I am away.”  
  
It was rather amusing watching the anger rise on her face.   
  
“You know what? Don’t come back,” she hissed.  
  
In three longs steps, she had walked past him, reached the door and entered before he had time to reply. He stared after her, wondering if he should talk some sense into her before he left. However, he had no idea what to say. Strange.  
  
Sighing, he continued to walk instead. Two weeks away from her was probably just what he needed to regain his senses again. Then, he would come back and remind her of her place.

 

xxx

  
The days after Voldemort’s departure were difficult, to say the least. Hermione didn’t remember ever being so restless before. She still had no idea what to do about him, and it didn’t help that Althea reminded her of him all the time by asking about him. By Friday, Hermione was almost tearing her hair out over the angst inside her. Hence, when Victoria asked her if she wanted to join her to a party, Hermione jumped to the occasion of having something else on her mind for a few hours. She arranged with Miss Cooper to stay during the night by paying twice as much. At seven, she went to Victoria’s dorm dressed in something she hoped would do for a party.  
  
Victoria took one critical look at her before pulling Hermione into her bedroom with a determined expression.  
  
“What’s wrong with it?” Hermione asked nervously as Victoria started to look around in her drawers.  
  
“Seriously, Hermione? It looks like something my grandmother would wear. The clothes you wear in class are sexier!” Victoria held up a very short, purple dress and held it against Hermione’s body. Thankfully, she threw it away before Hermione had time to protest.  
  
“I haven’t really been to these sorts of parties before,” Hermione mumbled, feeling a bit ashamed over her inexperience.  
  
The feeling only increased when Victoria stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously? Don’t they have parties in Australia?”  
  
“I suppose they do, but, well, I had Althea and …” She didn’t want to say “no friend” but Victoria’s look of sympathy told Hermione she got that as well.  
  
“Well, then it’s about time to get rid of that virginity!” she said in a much too chipper tone. “And you’ll do your debut in style!”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened when Victoria threw her a knee-length, blue dress. She tried to protest, but Victoria would hear none of it and actually started to unbutton Hermione’s shirt for her.  
  
Half an hour later, she was clad in the dress and got new make-up on as well. Her hair was in some sort of messy bun at the back of her head, which Victoria described as “sexy”. Hermione did think she looked quite nice, but felt rather uncomfortable with her breasts being pushed together by the body of the dress. Also, the thin material and short sleeves would probably make her freeze like hell.  
  
“Relax, the party is just in the other building. If you leave your clothes here, you’ll be able to pick them up on your way home. Or, if you hook up some cute boy, I’m sure he will lend you his robe.” Victoria winked when Hermione pointed out the cold factor.  
  
Admitting defeat (not that she fought so hard), Hermione nodded and followed Victoria out of the room. Once at the party, Victoria persuaded Hermione to take a little wine “to relax and get warm”. Hermione, wanting to push all thoughts of Voldemort as far away from her mind as possible, willingly agreed.  
  
Apparently, the undergraduate holding the party was Muggle-born and had managed to transfigure a CD-player to work in the building. He boasted over the fact that he had all the latest music in the Muggle world and got them all dancing to something called “The Ketchup Song”.  
  
Hermione ended up having a really good time, even though she did drink more than she should. She even got to turn down an undergraduate before she went home at midnight.  
  
After paying the babysitter and taking a shower, Hermione managed to get a full night’s sleep for the first time that week.

 

xxx

  
The conference was clearly overrated, Voldemort thought as he mingled around in the great garden that would have turned Narcissa Malfoy green in envy. Some of the guests were interesting enough, but most were too cooped up in their own world of academics to be of use to him. If he wanted their knowledge for some reason, he could just as well read their books. However, the few that could be recruited for his usage were indeed some of the best in their subject, and thus, the stay wasn’t completely useless.  
  
“Professor Foster!”  
  
He looked to his side and found one of his colleagues from Oxford standing there. “Professor Hannigan, what a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you here before. Did you arrive late?”  
  
“Yes, I had some things to take care of at first. I came here last night,” the red-haired witch replied with a smile and drank a bit of champagne from the glass she was holding. “It is just so strange to finally be here. I’ve heard so much about it. Although I hadn’t expected the honour to be given to me until I had passed my sixties!”  
  
Voldemort smiled and sipped from his own glass. She was fifty-nine. Although, he wasn’t surprised that she had been invited. Even though she was still young by Oxford Professors standard, she was a powerful and ambitious witch. Especially in her own field.  
  
“However, I do think people have been overselling it,” Hannigan continued, looking around to make sure no one heard her. “All they seem to do is chatting. Don’t get me wrong. You know me, I do love to chat about various academic subjects and problems, and everyone here is utterly brilliant at what they do … but I don’t know. I had just pictured something different. More exciting.”  
  
Voldemort completely agreed with her. Every day, there were numerous different presentations on various subjects. Most of them were useless, but just as there were some interesting people, there were some interesting discussions which he found enjoyable to attend to.  
  
“Oh, Master Nabelius is here as well,” Hannigan groaned in a low voice when two elderly wizards went by them a few yards away.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow at her, and when she saw it, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so surprised, Foster. You know what he is like.”  
  
“An arrogant male chauvinist? No, never noticed that.”  
  
Hannigan laughed. It reminded him of Hermione, and he felt a slight tingling in his groin. Damn it. Every night, he had to masturbate if he wanted to be able to sleep. Yet, it didn’t get him the magic he was used to collecting from her.  
  
“Have I missed anything good this week?” Hannigan asked, getting his attention again.  
  
“I guess that depends on where your interest lies. I found the presentation held by Professor Perrón very stimulating. I hadn’t really considered mixing Potions and Transfiguration the way she does.”  
  
Hannigan grimaced. “I can’t stand Potions, I’m afraid. All those entrails and other nasty substances … sorry, just can’t stand it.”  
  
He snorted. “I can’t blame you. What do you fancy then?”  
  
“Charms, obviously,” she said with a grin. “However, I was at a very interesting lecture this morning called ‘Power of Love’. You weren’t there?”  
  
“No, I needed some sleep after last night’s Astrology speculations,” he lied. The fact was that he had found the subject completely ludicrous. Obviously.  
  
“Too bad, it held many things I hadn’t considered before. It had never occurred to me that Soul Mates could be anything but silly romantic fantasies.”  
  
Voldemort, who had just taken a sip from his glass, started to cough. “Soul Mates? What has that to do with the power of love?”  
  
“Wulandari, the speaker, admitted that the title was a bit commercial, but the research she put forward was very thoroughly done. The consensus was that people can commit bonds to each other, and these bonds are very strong and can generate a lot of power. She called people with these sorts of connections ‘Soul Mates’ since they seemed to be bonded at the very core of their personalities.”  
  
Voldemort just stared at her for a moment. “What about the power then?”  
  
“She didn’t really have time to go into it, but it seemed to be magical power.”  
  
“Wulandari,” Voldemort muttered. “She hasn’t been here earlier this week, has she?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her. Why?”  
  
“I just don’t recognise her name,” he replied, his mind working furiously. He had to find a way to speak with this woman. “Perhaps I’ll have the chance to meet her later.”  
  
“Perhaps, but I don’t think she planned to stay long. On my way out, I overheard her talking to the maître about a boat that was supposed to pick her up after the feast here.”  
  
“What a pity.”   
  
Just so it wouldn’t look suspicious, he continued to talk with Hannigan a few more minutes before introducing her to another Charms Professor he had met. Then, he could excuse himself without being rude.  
  
Once he was out of sight, he started to look around in the great garden for any face he didn’t recognise. It was still light enough for him to quickly determine that she wasn’t there. Had she already left? Perhaps he should go and ask when the boat was due. Some wizards who didn’t like Portkeys had taken the Floo or some other means of transportation to an island nearby. From there, they were transported by boat. However, he thought all of the ones who had come by boat would stay during the whole conference, which meant there was most likely only one boat due tonight.  
  
He reached the reception, and a tall, black wizard informed him that the boat was due in just twenty minutes. Voldemort concluded that Wulandari would be waiting by the dock or soon be there. Therefore, he hurried outside.  
  
The conference was held in a great mansion and the garden was in the back of it. The dock, however, lay at the other side of the big building. It wasn’t big; a small terrace lead from the entrance of the hotel to a stairway of stone which lead down to the dock a few yards away. When Voldemort came out, he couldn’t see anyone there. The only sound came from the water hitting the shore. Should he sit down and wait?  
  
Turning around to walk in again, he saw an old woman with dark skin and long silver hair look at him curiously. She was sitting right next to the door, and he hadn’t seen her in his hurry to go outside.  
  
“Hello,” he greeted.  
  
“Hello there.”  
  
Thinking up a plan as he went along, he asked, “Have you by any chance seen a short brunette walking by here? Long, frizzy hair?”  
  
“No, I’m afraid not.” The old woman seemed rather amused.  
  
“Oh.” He looked at the bench she was sitting on. “Do you mind if I wait here for her? I’m sure she will come by shortly.”  
  
“Be my guest.”  
  
He sat down. “I’m Marcus Foster by the way. From Oxford.” He offered his hand.  
  
She took it. “Nice to meet you, Marcus Foster.” Why was she looking so darn amused? “I am Wulandari.”  
  
“Oh, really?” he asked, faking surprise. “I heard your lecture was very interesting. Sorry I missed it.”  
  
She chuckled. “I did not except many to be there. Especially not young men like yourself who have no appreciation for the power of love.”  
  
If Voldemort had been anyone but himself, he might have blushed. Hence, he faked a blush. “Er … yes. But that was because I didn’t realise you would be talking about Soul Mates. That is a very interesting topic indeed.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
He waited for her to say something else. When she didn’t, he pressed on. “Of course, as I’ve understood, Soul Mates don’t have anything to do with love, or the soul for that matter.”  
  
Wulandari arched one of her grey eyebrows. “You seem well-informed for an European, Mr Foster.”  
  
“Mysteries have always interested me,” Voldemort confessed. “However, it was Plato that came up with the term ‘Soul Mate’. That doesn’t necessarily mean it has something to do with the soul.”  
  
“You are clever, Mr Foster. In my tongue, we call the ones with such a connection ‘Magic Mates’,” she said.  
  
“Magic Mates?” Voldemort asked, very interested. “You mean the connection lies in the couple’s magic?”  
  
“Yes. However, you are mistaken if you think love doesn’t have anything to do with it.”  
  
Voldemort managed to hold back a snort. “Oh?” he asked instead, politely.  
  
“Two people cannot be bound together so intimately without starting to love each other,” Wulandari said, sounding very confident.  
  
Voldemort had to work even harder not to snort. No magic in the world could make him fall for something as stupid as love.  
  
“My boat is here.”   
  
The woman stood up, and Voldemort saw that there was indeed a boat coming towards the shore. It was moving almost soundlessly over the water.   
  
“It was nice to meet you, Mr Foster. I hope you find your frizzy, brown-haired witch.”  
  
With those words, she made her way down to the dock. Voldemort stayed seated. Magic Mates. Yes, that explained a lot. Like why he and Hermione felt pleasure when they cast the Cruciatus Curse at each other, despite the fact that the curse was painful. The magic ran everywhere in the body. That must be why they felt pleasure when they were touching. This explanation also made Dumbledore’s reincarnation theory and Plato’s term “Soul Mates” appear even more obsolete. However, it didn’t explain why there was a connection between their magic to begin with. There had to be some reason for that. Connections didn’t just appear out of nowhere.  
  
Voldemort stayed on the bench long that night, thinking as he watched the waves come and go.

 

xxx

  
The days after the party, Hermione became more and more secure in herself. She spent time with Ginny and Harry, studied with Victoria and went to classes. This was what she wanted to do in her life right now. Be with friends and study. Not having some twisted relationship with a sociopathic megalomaniac. Hence, she started to think of a plan on how she could make him see that as well. She knew it wouldn’t work if she just pointed out that she was uncomfortable with him. Somehow, she had to make it seem like he benefited from staying away from her. Surely he must have better things to do? Try to take over the world again or something like that?  
  
Hm. She probably shouldn’t encourage that. Oh well, she would think about something when she saw him. Until then, she wouldn’t worry, but enjoy her time alone. Or well, she was never truly alone. Althea was always there. However, Hermione found her daughter a rather soothing companion. Althea was very easily distracted if Hermione wanted to spend time alone with her books. However, if Hermione needed a distraction, Althea was a very amusing one to have.  
  
Nevertheless, there were times when Hermione was torn between her responsibilities as a mother and her own wishes. School had always been one of those things where Althea just didn’t fit in. Now Hermione also realised how tricky it could be to spend quality time with friends when she had to take Althea into consideration.  
  
During the Thursday class, Victoria begged Hermione to come to yet another party. Since Hermione had had such a good time last week, she felt eager to do it again. It had been a very relaxed and unforced environment, not at all like the parties people had had in the Gryffindor Tower. No one had looked at her strangely when she had mentioned the Hofken’s paradox. Half of the people had been just as nerdy as she was. It had been fun.  
  
However, she couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Althea alone, and Miss Cooper had already said she wasn’t available. Hence, she declined. Victoria sighed and said that if anything would change, Hermione was more than welcomed.  
  
Thursday night, Ginny and Luna came over for dinner. In the passing, Hermione mentioned the party and the reason why she couldn’t go.  
  
“I can watch her!” Ginny said enthusiastically. “You really need to get out more, Hermione. It’s not good for you to stay locked up with a book all the time. And Althea and I really get along.”  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. Over the past weeks, Ginny had asked a lot about “Marcus”. Even though she didn’t know who he really was, Ginny just didn’t seem to trust him. Now Hermione got the feeling Ginny was trying to sway her interest to someone else. However, wasn’t that what Hermione was trying to do as well? She smiled.   
  
“Fine, if that’s what you want. Do you want to stay at my place or …?”  
  
“I can stay here, if that’s best for Althea.”  
  
Said and done.   
  
Saturday night, Ginny came over to Hermione’s flat at six. They ate dinner together, and Hermione explained to Althea that Ginny was there to play with her. Althea watched Ginny with mild curiosity and then nodded. Hermione relaxed. Even though Althea had seemed to like Ginny during their visits at the Burrow, Hermione had been worried Althea wouldn’t have wanted to be alone with Ginny. Apparently, her worries had been superfluous.  
  
Victoria (who Hermione had owled with the happy news) awaited her arrival at eight, and this time, Hermione didn’t even bother to dress up before going. However, she did let Ginny put on the make-up, something the younger woman confessed to have wanted to do for years. Ginny even managed to tame her hair somewhat and place it in a braid.  
  
The green dress waiting for her at Victoria’s was nice and thankfully much more modest than what the other brunette was wearing.  
  
“Don’t you plan to wear anything over that?” Hermione asked. The jeans were all fine and well, but for the top, the other woman had a corset. Not the tight versions from back-in-the-days, but a more breathable version.  
  
“Nah, I plan to get a shag tonight, and these two will help me do just that,” she replied cheekily and pointed at her breasts which were pushed together and seemed about to spill out from the corset. Hermione had no doubt Victoria would get some poor boy on the hook.  
  
“Okay then,” Hermione answered with a sigh and straightened the knee-length skirt. She was starting to get nervous. As opposed to last week, she hadn’t had anything to drink yet. Not drinking kept her shy.  
  
The party was in Victoria’s building, so the walk was short. Nevertheless, Hermione managed to question herself a couple of times before she got there. She wasn’t a party person and here she was, partying for the second time within two weeks!  
  
Thankfully, the doubts started to lessen when she went inside and Victoria gave her a glass of some green substance which Hermione swallowed in one go. After that, things became much easier. When Victoria left her for some black-haired fellow, Hermione hardly noticed. She was having a great time with two male postgraduates. One of them, Peter Wood, was also in Transfiguration, but the other one, Henry (she hadn’t caught his last name), was in Charms. They were having a rather childish discussion about which subject was the best.  
  
“But with Transfiguration, we can turn you into a ferret and bounce you around!” Hermione pointed out, giggling like mad.  
  
“But with Shielding Spells, which we develop in Charms, I can stop you,” Henry replied sourly.  
  
“Oh, oh, I got the best one!” Peter said from the other side of her, leaning closer to Henry. “With Transfiguration, we can change water into wine. And that, you can’t beat!”  
  
Hermione laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. They had already established that Peter was a pure-blood,and she doubted very highly he had heard the Muggles’ religious myth on the subject of turning water into wine. That was what made it so funny. She was about to point it out when another man, apparently a friend of Henry, came over and pulled at Henry’s arm.  
  
“You just have to see this,” the other man said eagerly.  
  
Grimacing at them, Henry left.  
  
“I think we won,” Peter said with a chuckle in her ear.  
  
Hermione turned slightly and looked up at him. They were sitting very close due to the narrow couch, but she hadn’t really noticed how warm his body was next to her. Even though it didn’t give her the same intense pleasure as Voldemort’s did, it was still rather nice. Hm … Peter had the same hair colour as Voldemort and almost the same body figure, with a bit more muscles. In her drunken mind and in the dim-lighted room, he almost looked like him. That thought made her sex tingle. She hadn’t even masturbated since Voldemort had left.  
  
Hardly noticing it, she leaned a bit closer and the next thing she knew, she was snogging Peter. How had that happened? He didn’t taste at all like Voldemort, and his kiss was too soft and boring. Couldn’t he do anything with his lips? Oh, here came the tongue as well. Hermione did not care for that technique, so she withdrew.  
  
Peter, however, seemed more than taken. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled at her. She gave an uncertain smile back. Should she give it another go or not? Perhaps she just had to get used to his way of kissing? Because she couldn’t go through life only wanting Voldemort. That was ridiculous. Hence, when Peter leaned in to kiss her again, she allowed it. She moved her hand up to his face and stroked it. His skin was uneven due to pimples. She moved up to his hair but quickly withdrew. It was all greasy because of some cream. She wiped it off on his shirt, pretending to stroke his arm.  
  
His hand came down to her thigh, but when it started to crawl upwards, Hermione finally withdrew. He looked with uncertainty at her. Ugh, Voldemort would never look like that. He would just take her and make her breathless and … Oh, fuck. She must stop thinking about Voldemort that way. She did not like it when he dominated her like that. Not at all!  
  
“Er, I’m just not sure how far I want to take this,” she said, embarrassed.  
  
“Oh. Er, right. Yeah, I get that.” Peter bit his lip, which was slightly reddening from the kisses. “That’s cool. We can just, er, talk?”  
  
Merlin, he was such a nice, young man. Clever and … somewhat cute. If she hadn’t met Voldemort, she would probably start dating him. Alas, now she just couldn’t get away from the fact that he was not Voldemort. He didn’t do it for her at all. The excitement she had felt before was gone. Should she continue or should she leave with what little dignity she had left?  
  
Voldemort would be so gleeful when he found out he was the only one she was attracted to. She could see him in front of her and … No! She would not allow that! Merlin, she needed another drink if she were ever to manage to put Voldemort out of her mind.  
  
“You know what? Why don’t we just have another glass of whatever this is?” Hermione made a gesture to the half-empty cups on the coffee table. “And then maybe we can snog some more.”  
  
Peter seemed to like that idea very much, and he quickly got them two more glasses.  
  
The guilt Hermione might have felt for using Peter to forget Voldemort was soon washed away by the alcohol. As was her better judgement.  
  
“I think you have had a little too much to drink now,” Peter noted at two o’clock and removed the cup from her hand. “Why don’t I escort you home?”  
  
Hermione giggled. “I’m Hermione Granger! I’ve done far scarier things than gone home alone at night.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m more worried whether the great Hermione Granger will find her way home at all,” Peter commented and helped her stand up.  
  
Hermione could see the logic in that, despite the fact that everything else in her mind was quite fuzzy. “Merlin’s beard, I don’t remember ever drinking this much ...”  
  
Peter held his arm around her and led her out the dorm. “I think it’s something all students go through. Oh, watch out for the step there.”  
  
It probably took a bit longer than usual to walk home, but once they had made it to the right building, Peter stopped.  
  
“Oh, look, my door,” Hermione muttered, nodding at the door.  
  
“Yeah … do you want me to make sure you get inside alright as well?”   
  
Hermione thought he sounded hopeful. She smiled. “You are so cute.”  
  
She leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was actually better than the others had been. Apparently, Peter had learned the way she liked to kiss. Or she was too drunk to remember what she liked. Either way, she was too caught up in the kiss to hear someone walk up behind Peter.  
  
“I know I’m back in England when I find young people kissing at my doorpost,” came a dry comment from behind Peter. Hermione’s whole being froze.

 

xxx

  
The week after Voldemort’s meeting with Wulandari, not so many interesting things happened. Even though people were interested in him and his point of view of this and that (as they should), he just didn’t find the debates as interesting as he usually would. In his mind, he did map out who would be useful and for what, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was musing over what Wulandari had said and what it could mean for him and Hermione. Sometimes, he was just musing over what Hermione was wearing and what would be the best way for him to remove it.  
  
When Sunday came, he was only expected to stay at the lunch. Hence, at three o’clock in the afternoon, he could go back home. Of course, it was the middle of the night in the UK, but he figured he could sit up and read for some time and take a nap when morning came.  
  
The Portkey took him to the Apparation point of Oxford. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp, autumn night air of England as he walked the fifteen minutes it took to get to his flat. When he came there, he saw two young people snogging at the entrance. It was too dark for him to recognise them, so he made his presence known by speaking.  
  
“I know I’m back in England when I find young people kissing at my doorpost.”  
  
The couple slowly broke apart. The somewhat taller male turned to him with a grin. “Sorry, Professor. Didn’t expect to be blocking the entrance for anyone.”  
  
It was Peter Wood. Voldemort chuckled and started to walk towards them.   
  
“Never mind, Mr Wood. Just coming home from …” He froze mid-sentence when he saw whom Peter had been snogging. For a moment, he just blinked, not knowing how he should react. A lot of different emotions were running through his body. Rage was the one he recognised the best. There were also feelings of betrayal and jealousy, but he didn’t want to linger at them. Instead, he embraced the rage.  
  
Before the two students had time to react, he grabbed both of them and Apparated away to a less public location. The house was one he had used for killing in before. He had actually killed the owners of the house. Therefore, he knew the bedroom they landed in was empty. With a few small spells, he made sure no sounds would get out and no one could stumble upon them. He also took their wands. Not that he thought they would be in any condition to use them; they were both rather drunk.  
  
Hermione was actually throwing up already while Wood had only lost his balance and was sitting on the floor. Voldemort made sure he stayed there by tying Wood’s feet and hands together.  
  
“Hey! What’s going on?” Wood asked, wriggling against the bonds.  
  
“For now, you’ll have to wait,” Voldemort replied coldly and took a hold of Hermione. With another spell, the mess she had made was gone. “I can see that you haven’t organised your priorities at all while I’ve been gone.”  
  
Hermione groaned. “What are you doing here? I was having fun.”  
  
“So I see,” he remarked and helped her over to the single bed standing against the wall. It was rather small since it was made for a child, but the pink covers seemed soft enough for her to rest on. “Now I think you need another lesson, my little Gryffindor kitten. A lesson to see what happens when you are unfaithful to Lord Voldemort.”  
  
At once, Hermione seemed much more aware. And scared. Good.  
  
She sat up, staring at him with big eyes. “N-no. I was ... we were just ...”  
  
He stroked some hair away from her sweaty forehead. “Yes?”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Wood’s voice came from behind them. He was starting to sound really scared as well.  
  
Voldemort ignored him. “All you have to do, Hermione, is sit here and watch. Do you think you can do that?”  
  
Hermione gripped the front of his robe. “You can’t hurt him! We were just ...”  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m really starting to look forward what the end of that sentence could be, Hermione.” He knew she wouldn’t finish it, but it was fun to tease her. However, the torture that was coming would be even more entertaining. She would regret her actions then. He would make sure she knew that you didn’t cheat on Lord Voldemort.  
  
“I’ll fuck you instead!” she hurriedly said.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “If you really think I’ll-”  
  
She grabbed his head and kissed him. Voldemort was quite surprised, but not displeased. He had been looking forward to this very much the past two weeks. Suddenly, his need to kill Wood was overwhelmed by his need to fuck Hermione again. He wanted to be filled with her magic again. It had been much too long. Surely he could postpone the torture and killing for another half an hour or so?  
  
“What the fuck ...?” Wood sounded shocked.  
  
Without even taking his mouth from Hermione’s, Voldemort cast a Silencing Spell over the boy before turning his full attention to Hermione again. Even though he wanted to fuck her, he still needed her to squirm a little bit first. How else was she supposed to learn that she had done something bad? But not anything physically painful … perhaps a little embarrassment instead?  
  
He broke their kiss. “Strip.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she looked past him to the boy lying on the floor. Voldemort gripped her chin and forced her to look back at him.  
  
“My dear, if you really want your friend to survive this night, I suggest you do everything I say. Understood?”  
  
Hermione nodded slowly and rose from the bed. Voldemort moved so that he could sit with his back against the wall and eyed her from head to toe. The green dress she was wearing was at least not as revealing as a lot of dresses he had seen on women her age. It didn’t put her on display, but it was pretty. If it weren’t for the make-up, she could have been going home from a business meeting instead of a party. At least she still had some sense. If she had a too revealing dress on, he would have had to kill every man who had seen her tonight.  
  
“It’s a lovely dress, by the way,” he commented. “Where did you get it?”  
  
“V-Victoria,” she stuttered, casting a nervous glance towards Wood.  
  
“Of course. Remove it.” His voice turned hard.  
  
Hermione’s eyes snapped back to Voldemort, and she quickly withdrew the dress. She stumbled as she stepped out of it, but regained her balance before she fell. Mumbling a curse, she removed her heels. As she straightened up, he watched her pale skin. All she was wearing underneath the dress was a white bra and pink knickers. He smiled. This was much better.  
  
“The underwear as well, kitten,” he said calmly, crossing his arms.  
  
After another uncomfortable glance at Wood, Hermione closed her eyes and struggled to get out of her bra and knickers. Voldemort doubted she would have done it so willingly if she hadn’t been drinking. However, that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the fact that Hermione was completely naked in front of him. At last.  
  
“Come here,” he ordered as he held out his hand and moved to the edge of the bed.  
  
Hermione took his hand after a slight hesitation. With a tug, he had spun her around so she landed on his lap with her back against his chest. He brushed the hair away and kissed her neck. His hands travelled down her chest and stomach, and he could feel her shiver. When he reached the curls around her sex, he looked up to see how Wood was taking all this.  
  
The boy’s eyes were on Hermione, naturally. He didn’t seem scared at all anymore, just enthralled by her naked body. Voldemort felt a dark surge of jealousy but stopped the urge to cover Hermione up. He could gouge Wood’s eyes out afterwards. This was, after all, the last thing Wood would ever see in his life: That Hermione was his and no one else’s.   
  
“Spread your legs,” Voldemort whispered into her ear.  
  
Hermione seemed to have forgotten everything about modesty. Since her eyes were closed, Voldemort guessed she had forgotten about Wood altogether. That was probably because of the alcohol, but Voldemort was sure she was enjoying his hands on her body, too. So, she didn’t have any trouble spreading her legs on either side of his.  
  
When his hand reached her cunt, he found her soaking wet. “I see you have missed me, too, kitten.”  
  
Hermione let out small mew. Voldemort chuckled and kissed her neck again. It felt utterly amazing to touch her again after two weeks. As he moved two fingers inside her, it felt as if he were coming home. Knowing that he would soon get a fresh fill of magic was just a great bonus. On top of that, he would get to kill one of his students, which made this night better than Christmas.   
  
Not that he had ever liked Christmas, but he imagined this was what Christmas felt like for young, naive children.  
  
“When you come, I want you to call out my name,” he whispered and undid the curse that made it impossible for her to reveal who he was.  
  
Hermione’s eyelids fluttered, and he wondered how long she would continue to be conscious. It was late, and she was utterly drunk. Well, as long as she didn’t fall asleep before they had sex, he was alright with it.  
  
He placed his wand on the bed next to him and used that hand to stimulate Hermione’s clit. He had four fingers inside her now. She was moaning loudly. One of her hands came over her head and took a hard grip of his hair. Voldemort rubbed her clit even harder, and she came with a wail.  
  
“Voldemort!” she cried, bucking against his hand.  
  
Voldemort looked at Wood, whose eyes were as big as saucers. Voldemort smiled at him. When Wood saw it, he began wriggling with new vigour, managing to shuffle a few inches backwards. Voldemort gripped his wand again and cast a spell that made Wood freeze. The boy could still see them, but he wouldn’t be able to move. It was quite possible that Voldemort wouldn’t let him move ever again.  
  
However, first, he would finish up with Hermione. He lifted the young woman off his lap and moved her so she was lying on her belly on the bed.  
  
“When I do this, kitten, I want you to remember that you belong to me,” he said as he pulled out his hard cock from his trousers. “If you ever dare to touch another man again, I’ll not be this kind.”  
  
Hermione hardly seemed to hear him. However, she did move with him when he made her raise her hips up towards him, bending her legs underneath her. With one hand on her back, keeping her upper body down against the mattress, he guided himself inside her cunt with the other hand.  
  
Voldemort groaned when he entered her. He had been wrong before _. This_ was like coming home. His cock had longed for its hot, wet companion, and he had longed for the magic that was already building up between them. He pulled the magic in as he thrust inside her, getting deeper than he ever remembered being before.  
  
Hermione moved back against him, even though her movements were weaker than his. She would, no doubt, black out soon. Better to speed things up then.  
  
“I wonder if you realise that I will kill your friend anyway,” he said softly to the moaning woman underneath him.  
  
She didn’t appear to hear him. Voldemort looked at Wood. He had heard him. Fear was shining through his eyes. Voldemort gave him a cold smile before turning his attention back to Hermione.  
  
“At least you have earned the privilege of not being awake to see it,” he mumbled, and with three more hard thrusts, he had emptied himself inside her.  
  
Once he let her go, Hermione fell to her side, passed out cold. Voldemort removed his cloak and laid it over her. Then, he also performed a spell that would make her deaf to what was about to happen. She would, no doubt, have a hell of a hangover in the morning. That would be enough of a punishment for now. He didn’t feel very angry with her anymore, anyway. She had redeemed herself with the fucking. If she ever seemed like she was about to cheat on him again, he would just remind her of this night.  
  
As for Wood, no fucking in the world could save him from his fate.  
  
“Now, Mr Wood,” Voldemort said and crouched down in front of the boy. “You have done something unforgivable. You have touched what is mine. I know you were about to fuck her. Yes, I know all about the games you and your friends play. Find a lonely girl, slip something into her drink and fuck her like there is no tomorrow. Because you tried to do this with my little kitten, I’m going to rip your cock off. After that, I’m going to cut your hands off for touching her and your tongue for kissing her. Once that is done, I’ll move on to your eyes. Once these things are all done, I’m going to find a small box and put you in it and then bury you somewhere, where no one will find you. It will take some time before you bleed out, I’ll make sure of that. As you lie there, waiting to die, I want you to think about how you have wronged Lord Voldemort. Do you think you can do that for me?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to Nerys and Serpent In Red for betaing (and thank you for all the help, overall, Serp!).

**Chapter 18**  
  
The day after the party, Hermione woke up, feeling absolutely horrible. The night before was just one black hole. The last thing she remembered was sitting with two other students, discussing … er, something. She wasn’t sure what.  
  
“Hermione?” Someone was nudging her shoulder.  
  
Hermione carefully opened her eyes, wincing when the light made her headache worse. Before she closed them again, she recognised Ginny sitting in front of her on the coffee table. That meant she was in her own living room. That was good, at least. Someone must have helped her home.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Hermione groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead.  
  
“Here, drink this. It’s a hangover potion.” Hermione could feel Ginny holding up a bottle against her lips. Hermione took it and drank it in one go.  
  
After just a few minutes, she started to feel better. The headache was still there but not as severe.  
  
“Thanks,” Hermione groaned and sat up, looking around in her living room. “Where’s Althea?”  
  
“Still asleep. I had some trouble getting her to bed last night. She started to miss you around bedtime.”  
  
Guilt washed over Hermione. “Remind me never to party again. What time is it?”  
  
“Just after eight,” Ginny said, looking a bit worried. “What happened last night?”  
  
Hermione ransacked her mind. “I’m not sure … I don’t remember getting home. Did you hear me come home?”  
  
Ginny shook her head. “No, sorry.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “I’ll just go and use the bathroom before waking up Althea.”  
  
Once in the bathroom, Hermione discovered that she was still wearing Victoria’s dress. Had she gone home alone last night, or had someone helped her? A horrible thought hit her, and she quickly removed her dress. She exhaled in relief when she saw that her body seemed completely unharmed. Her knickers were clean as well. She removed them and tried to see if there were any signs of someone taking advantage of her.  
  
There were none.   
  
However, when she sat down to pee, it stung a bit, like it usually did after she had sex. Weird. However, if she had been taking advantage of, she was sure it hadn’t been willingly and thus, she would have shown some sign of force. Only Voldemort had ever managed to get her wet, and he wouldn’t be back from the Cook Islands until later today.  
  
She stepped into the shower and let the water wash away her worries. Perhaps she had left on her own then. Just because she couldn’t remember what had happened last night, it didn’t mean she had been raped or something like that. She had heard about lots of people just drinking too much and passing out, not remembering a lot the day afterward. She was just being paranoid.  
  
Since it was Sunday, she had promised to visit the Burrow for brunch. Even though she didn’t really feel like going, she didn’t have the energy to cook and she knew she needed some food today. Even more, Althea needed real food, and Hermione felt guilty enough for leaving her alone last night that she decided to go to the Burrow for her sake.  
  
They were in the middle of eating when Harry arrived at the Burrow, looking grim. Mrs Weasley immediately poured him some of the stew she was serving and told him everything would feel better after he had some food in his stomach. The others around the table nodded in sympathy, and Hermione got the feeling she was missing something. Thankfully, Harry sat down next to her so, when the others began talking with each other, Hermione could ask Harry what was going on discreetly.  
  
“My superior wanted to test my ability to stay professional,” Harry muttered and stabbed a bit of pork with his fork, “so he made me Malfoy’s probationary officer. Now I have to go to his manor every week to make sure he hasn’t fallen back to his old ways. And do you remember how huge that thing is? This morning, I was there for four hours! And Malfoy keeps giving me snide remarks about how I should appreciate the art and not just scan it for dark magic.”  
  
Hermione patted his shoulder. “Was it junior or senior?”  
  
“Senior. I haven’t seen junior yet. I got to search his room, though. Talk about being spoiled.” Harry grimaced.  
  
“But you found nothing? And Malfoy doesn’t seem to be up to anything?”  
  
“Nothing any wizard would find alarming, but the dungeon was filled with chains, whips and a knife collection that would have made any Muggle worried. But none of it contained magic, and Malfoy said those were just old things his great-great-grandfather or something had left there. And the other Aurors hadn’t removed it when they swept the house back when he got arrested, so …” Harry trailed off, shrugging.  
  
Hermione sighed. “I just can’t believe they released him. If there is a devil, that man is it.”  
  
“Yeah. Or the devil’s right-hand man at least,” Harry muttered, stabbing another piece of pork.  
  
“Right. Still no word about Voldemort?” She wanted to tell him that Voldemort was living right next to her but couldn’t. She even had to force back a cough by thinking it.  
  
“No, we are just cleaning up his mess.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“They found some bodies. It matched Voldemort’s magical signature. And since the bodies were recently killed, at least we know he is alive and kicking.”  
  
Hermione felt a shiver run down her back. “How recent?”  
  
“About a month. All the deaths occurred between three to five weeks ago. It’s strange, we have found almost nothing at all for so long, but now he seemed to have got more active again. Or maybe he has just changed his dumping place. However, all the victims were Muggles, so we don’t know what purpose he had … Hermione? Are you alright?”  
  
No. She wasn’t alright. Not even a little bit. Voldemort had been murdering again? A lot of Muggles? Why? And when had he had time to do it? A month ago, he had practically lived with her! When had he had the time to sneak away and kill Muggles?  
  
Well, there was that time she had woken up, needing to pee and found him missing. However, she had been half-asleep at the time and thought nothing of it, and the next time she woke up, it had been to him … No. He couldn’t have, could he? Not even he was so sick that he went from killing someone to fucking her. Right?  
  
She ran to the bathroom, losing her dinner into the toilet. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! How could he do that? How could he just … do that? Hermione shivered. She didn’t know what to think or feel. It was all surreal. How did you react in situations like this?  
  
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Hermione? Are you okay?”  
  
Ginny. Hermione took a deep breath. Oh, shit. How would she explain her reaction to them? Taking another deep breath, she stood up and opened the door.  
  
“Sorry, I think I still got a hangover,” Hermione muttered and looked down on the floor.  
  
Ginny gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Do you want some Pepper-up Potion?”  
  
Hermione nodded, even though she knew a Pepper-up Potion couldn’t do anything to ease the angst. It was so sick. She felt tainted and angry. Both angry at Voldemort and herself for continuing to sleep with him when she knew who he was. Even though she couldn’t tell people about him, she shouldn’t have stayed with him liked that. And why had he all of a sudden started to kill Muggles anyway? You’d think he would have been in a good mood with all the sex they had been having.  
  
Or had he just begun to kill again because of her?  
  
Harry had said they hadn’t found any bodies older than five weeks. That was around the time she had found out the truth about him. Had he started to kill again because of that?  
  
No! She would not feel guilty over this! It was his fault, all of it. But then why did she feel like she had to fix it somehow?  
  
Ginny came back and handed her a cup with Pepper-up Potion. Hermione drank it and then followed the red-haired woman down to the kitchen again. The others had already finished eating and only Molly and Angelina were in there, cleaning up. Molly gave her a worried look, and Hermione repeated the lie about having a hangover. Hopefully, they would all think the shame on her face was because of that and not because of anything else.  
  
Once she had reassured Harry as well, she bid them adieu, took her daughter and Apparated back home. Althea went to the bedroom to play by herself as usual, and Hermione sank down on the couch. What should she do? Should she talk to him about it? Ask if it were true? But how would she know if he lied or not? And if he had killed them, what should she do then?  
  
She didn’t know how long she sat there, trying to figure it out, when there was a knock on the door. She stood up and opened it. Of course it was him.  
  
“Hi. What do you want?” she asked cautiously, while trying to keep the anger in check. Just confronting him wouldn’t get her any answers. She needed to make him talk somehow, to know exactly what he had done and hopefully why.  
  
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Aren’t you looking wonderful today. Rough night?”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. He sounded like he knew something. “Why are you asking that?  
  
He smirked and walked past her into the living room like he owned it before sitting down on the couch. The same couch where they had had sex more times than she cared to admit. Had he left her every night to go and kill?  
  
“In due time. First, I want to know what you have been up to these past two weeks.”  
  
“What is that to you?” she asked and stalked over to the couch. She needed to know if he had killed those Muggles or not. If he had, she would hex him, she decided.  
  
“You are my little kitten, Hermione. And you will tell me exactly what you have done in my absence. Snogging with any other students?  
  
“Snogging?” Hermione asked, her anger suddenly pushed back by the surprise.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you don’t remember Peter? Really, Hermione, one would think you’d remember the boy who gave his life for a kiss with you.”  
  
A very bad feeling settled in her stomach. She remembered Peter. He had been one of the two she had talked to … Could she really have kissed him? If she had, how could Voldemort possibly know that?   
  
“Gave his life … You killed him?”  
  
“Naturally. I don’t like it when people touch what is mine.”  
  
Hermione felt sick again. “And what about the Muggles? Why did you kill them?”  
  
He merely blinked. “What Muggles?”  
  
Her anger returned, more forcefully than before. “Don’t lie to me, Voldemort! Harry told me they found countless victims with your magical signature on them! And I know you have been sneaking away at night!”  
  
He stood up. “Calm down, Hermione.”  
  
“Tell me the truth!” she ordered and went up to him, grabbing his face. She had seen into his mind once before, and now her anger was fuelling her magic, making her strong enough to do it again.  
  
Voldemort tried to push her away and also tried to block her intrusion with Occlumency. For some reason, neither worked. Hermione pushed into his mind, tearing into every memory he had, searching for the truth. It didn’t take much time until she found it. She could see the victims, their faces as he tore them open in various ways. She could feel the satisfaction in him. Sick satisfaction as he watched their blood flow. There was only one face she recognised: Peter from last night. He had actually killed him.  
  
Not only that, but she could also see what he felt after every kill. How he needed her, Hermione. How he came home, taking her.  
  
She let go, feeling like she was going to be sick again, but the anger pushed it away.  
  
“You sick bastard,” she whispered.  
  
“Hermione, calm down, they were just Muggles—”  
  
“My parents are Muggles!” she screamed of anger, despair and disgust. And fear. What if Voldemort, who seemed to just pick Muggles off the street, killed her parents? No, she wouldn’t allow that.  
  
She had never been so angry before. With a growl, she threw herself at him and began to hit him everywhere she could. His face, his chest and head. When he almost managed to break free, she took a hard grip around his neck, choking him. She barely noticed the wand pressing into her rib, and she didn’t have to. No magic came. He clawed at her wrist, and she could actually feel the panic rising in his body. A violent surge of magic erupted from him and finally threw her away. She hit the wall hard and passed out.  
  
“Mum?” A small sob made her come back to consciousness again. Althea.  
  
She sat up her, feeling her head throbbing slightly. Voldemort lay unconscious a few feet away. She hugged her daughter. “It’s alright, Althea. I’ll make it alright.”  
  
“Mum, wha append?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“Shh, honey, I’ll take care of this,” Hermione promised, not taking her eyes away from Voldemort’s body.  
  
Letting go of her daughter, she stood up. Yes. She had to make it alright. She had to make sure he would never hurt another living thing again. Next time, it might not be a Muggle. Next time, it could be one of her friends. Her parents. Her daughter.  
  
“Go back to the bedroom, sweetie,” she said and pushed Althea towards the bedroom. However, before they got there, Hermione heard a strangled groan.  
  
She took a hold of her wand, forgetting her daughter. Voldemort was coming to. Determination strong in her chest, she walked over to him, aiming her wand at him.   
  
Voldemort stared up at her. He had never looked so afraid before. He glanced to his left, and she spotted his wand lying there. Before he had time to lunge for it, she had kicked it away, never letting her own wand leave him.  
  
“Don’t you regret it at all?” she asked and, to her annoyance, she could feel tears rising in her eyes.  
  
He tried to say something, but she must have damaged something in his throat because nothing came out. However, no regret was showing on his face. Just panic. He didn’t feel anything. He was just a manipulative monster. How could she ever have allowed him near her? Near her daughter? The thought about protecting Althea was what gave her the strength to do what she had to do.  
  
“You are an evil bastard, Voldemort,” she spat, blinking away some tears. “ _Avada Kedavra_!”  
  
The green light left her wand. His eyes widened in panic the millisecond before the curse hit him straight in the chest. He flew back about a yard and landed on the floor with his eyes closed. Hermione dropped her wand and stared at him.  
  
She had no idea how long did she stare at his body, but she knew what snapped her out of it: Althea walking over to him, poking him.  
  
“Dad?” she asked in a low voice and then added something in Parseltongue. Probably “dad” again.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. She had completely forgotten that her daughter was still there. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. How on earth would she be able to explain to Althea why she had done what she did? Althea couldn’t comprehend what her father had done. To her, he was just the father who could talk her special language with her and who made her delicious dinners. Althea was probably the only human who liked Voldemort!  
  
“Dad!” Althea sobbed and slapped his cheek.  
  
Hermione was on her way over there, when something happened that almost made her heart stop. Voldemort grabbed Althea’s hand.

xxx

  
Voldemort had passed out for a while. When he came to, he was very relieved and surprised over the fact that he wasn’t dead. Hermione had looked so ready to kill him, and for a moment, he had thought she would actually do it. Her eyes had been cold and hard, and he knew she was powerful enough to do it. If she really wanted to. Thankfully, she must not want him dead as much as she thought. Or maybe something else was at play?  
  
A hand connected with his cheek. A small hand. Althea was calling out to him. His mind was foggy, though. However, he did not want his daughter to hit him again and thus he grabbed her hand and opened his eyes.  
  
Althea’s face brightened immediately, and he smiled softly at her. His sweet, little daughter. With a murdering bitch as a mother. He sat up and saw Hermione stumbling backwards, falling to the floor. His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t seen it coming, none of it. When she had started to accuse him, he had been completely surprised.  
  
That she had managed to break into his mind was both worrying and baffling. When she had hit him, he hadn’t known what to do. He had tried to curse her at one point, only to have the oath kick in, stopping him from harming her. By then, the lack of oxygen had made his mind slower, and he hadn’t been able to come up with any non-curse way to get her off. Thankfully, his magic had acted on its own, blasting her away. Alas, it had drained him in the process, and that was the only reason why she had managed to get so close to killing him.  
  
Now, however, the tables were turned. He rose carefully and ignored his throbbing limbs. Just because the chit hadn’t managed to actually kill him, didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. And he did not tolerate people hurting him.  
  
He continued to hold Althea’s hand as he walked towards his wand. Hermione would regret this. Severely. As he bent down and picked it up, he heard her move behind him. When he spun around to stop her, she had already reached her wand and Disapparated. He stared at the spot she had disappeared from and let out a huff of frustration. Oh, well. She would be back. After all, Althea was still here with him. She would come back for her daughter’s sake. Of that he was certain.  
  
“ _Dad?”_ Althea pulled his arm to get his attention. “ _Why did you and Mum fight?”_  
  
Voldemort sank down next to her, stroking her hair. “ _Because your mum is not well. But when she comes back, I’ll help her, okay? So if you see your mum, just call for me and I’ll come to_ _help her. It’s very important that I do. Do you understand?”_  
  
At least he could speak Parseltongue. His throat felt very badly wounded. He needed to find a way to heal it now.  
  
Althea nodded; then, she trailed a finger down the side of his face. “ _Dad. You are all red_.”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “ _I know, dear. Let’s find some healing cream in the bathroom. Then Dad needs to get some sleep.”_  
  
Althea nodded again and led him into the bathroom. Voldemort’s body was aching more and more by the minute. He swallowed two bottles of anti-pain potions in one go, despite the fact that they made you tired. It was not like he could continue to stay awake much longer anyway. He would just have to hope Hermione didn’t come back in the next few hours. He needed sleep to regain his energy.  
  
With the last of the magic he could muster, he placed a ward around Hermione’s bedroom so no one would be able to enter, or at least not without going through lots of trouble and giving him time to wake up. Then he fell asleep, still holding his daughter’s hand.

 

xxx

  
Hermione Apparated blindly, landing somewhere she didn’t recognise. It was outside and raining mercilessly. She breathed heavily as her mind worked furiously.  
  
She had failed.  
  
And she had left her daughter behind. After traumatising her by trying to kill her father in front of her. She was the worst mother ever. Even Voldemort was a better parent. At least he had always made sure to torture her with Althea tucked away someplace else. Hermione laughed hysterically. Gallows humour. Just what she needed.  
  
The laughter turned into sobs. She was already soaked so it didn’t matter. Sweet Merlin, what should she do? What could she do? She should go back for her daughter’s sake, but … what about Voldemort? She was afraid of what he would do to her. The bond had always made her feel safe that he, at least, wouldn’t kill her. But now … if she had managed to ignore their bond to try to kill him, surely he would be able to do the same? He had threatened to kill her before, after all.  
  
She needed some sort of help. But who?  
  
She rose. Even though it was only five o’clock, it was getting rather dark. Partly because of the rain, but it was late November as well and the sunset was rather early. In just an hour, it would probably be completely dark and unlikely to get any warmer than this. She needed to get under a roof. Harry and Ginny would welcome her with open arms, but they would ask questions. Since Voldemort was still alive, the curse on her was still intact, and she wouldn’t be able to say anything. She would just make them worried. She didn’t want that.  
  
However, her list of friends was quite short.  
  
Then it hit her. Victoria! Even though Voldemort knew about her, he didn’t know how close they had become. He probably wouldn’t look there tonight. He probably didn’t even know where she lived. It was perfect.  
  
Her mind set, she Apparated to Victoria’s corridor. She knocked on the door.  
  
No answer.  
  
Hermione shifted from one foot to another and weighed her options. She could probably break in. Victoria would understand when she got back and Hermione explained. Or well, made up an explanation.  
  
“Granger? What are you doing here, soaking the floor?”  
  
She spun around and saw Draco Malfoy standing there with his girlfriend, Rosaline Morel.  
  
“That’s none of our business, Malfoy,” Hermione answered darkly.  
  
Malfoy frowned, but before he had time to answer, Rosaline nudged him.  
  
“I really have to go now, Draco, or I’ll be late. See you tomorrow?” she asked.  
  
“Of course, I work until four. Shall I stop by after that?” he asked, leaning closer.  
  
“Please do.” She gave him a kiss. “Love you.”  
  
“Love you, too.”  
  
Rosaline Disapparated, and Hermione snorted at the irony that Malfoy had a loving relationship, despite all the horrible things he had done, while she was stuck with Voldemort. Life really wasn’t fair.  
  
“Do you got something to say, Granger?” he asked, apparently having heard the snort.  
  
“Not at all,” Hermione muttered, knocking on Victoria’s door again.  
  
He stalked up to her. “Do you have some sort of problem with me?”  
  
She looked at him in disbelief. “Do I have any problem with the fact that you bullied me for six years in school? Nooo, whatever makes you think that?”  
  
He fisted his hands. “It will never be enough, will it? Whatever I do, all of you will still hate me and see me as scum!”  
  
“That’s because you are scum, Malfoy,” she replied, really not having the patience for this.  
  
“I’m not!”  
  
She turned towards him. “Look, Malfoy, I’m not having the best of days here and I have no wish to stroke your ego by saying that you are a better person because frankly, I can’t see it. Even though you haven’t called me a Mudblood this semester, you haven’t done anything positive either that may result in me forgiving you. So just get lost!”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Father was right about you, Granger.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and turned to walk away. She would come back later and see if Victoria was home then. Or at least, that had been the plan until she was hit by a Stunner in the back.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort woke up feeling slightly better, but his body was still aching like he had tried to run a marathon carrying a Hippogriff on his back. It was completely dark outside, and Althea was asleep on his arm. He carefully eased his arm out from underneath her and went to the bathroom, needing to empty his bladder.  
  
As he walked to the kitchen to find something to eat, he mused over the fact that Hermione wasn’t back. He had thought she would return sooner rather than later for the sake of her daughter. Probably with some sort of reinforcements. Perhaps she was waiting for morning?  
  
After he had eaten, he went back to bed. Even though he didn’t plan to sleep, only to rest, he did fall asleep and didn’t wake up again until Althea began to move around at seven o’clock.  
  
“ _Dad_ ,” she asked in Parseltongue when he was fully awake. “ _Why doesn’t Mum come home?”_  
  
“ _I don’t know, Althea. Maybe she is afraid_ ,” he answered, slowly stretching his body to see if there were some places that hurt more than normal.  
  
“ _Of what?”_  
  
“ _Your mother did some very bad things yesterday. She could be afraid to face the consequences_.”   
  
He winced when he stretched his arm. No bones seemed to be broken, but the muscles were tender.  
  
“ _What are consequences?”_  
  
“ _Everything you do has_ _consequences. Some are bad;_ _some are good. Like, if you don’t brush your teeth, your teeth will rot.”_  
  
“ _Okay_.” Living with dentists had taught Althea everything about teeth.  
  
He made them breakfast and finally managed to start healing his throat. He was about to apply a healing cream on the many bruises as well but changed his mind. If Hermione could see the damage she had done to him, she would feel guilty and hesitate to hex him again. That would give him a chance to hex her instead.  
  
During the whole day, he expected her to barge in at any moment. He played a little with Althea and made them lunch. Then he made them dinner and still no Hermione. Night came, and he was certain she would storm in the moment he fell asleep. He placed a dozen of heavy wards around the flat because he knew he still needed to sleep to heal.  
  
The next morning, he woke up, and none of the wards had been disturbed. It puzzled him to no end. Was she really so much of a coward that she was hiding?  
  
Very well, he didn’t mind a hunt now and again. First, he just had to find out what to do with Althea. After much thinking, he decided to hunt at night when the girl was asleep. He placed a ward around her to notify him if she woke up. If something or someone disturbed the ward, he could be by her side in seconds. He also made sure no one else could enter the flat without going through much trouble. He still couldn’t rule out that Hermione was waiting for him to leave to go in and snatch Althea.  
  
The night leading to Tuesday, he broke into all her friends’ houses to see if she were hiding there. Invisible and silent, he moved from Potter’s place (it was ridiculous how easy it was to break in there) to the Burrow (he hadn’t even expected that to be hard) and then to all the Weasley children’s places. She wasn’t there. Not that he had expected her to be. She still couldn’t tell anyone about who he really was, and it would just be too complicated for her to give them a reason as to why she had left her daughter with someone she didn’t want to see.  
  
He also looked everywhere at the Oxford campus before he needed to go to bed. He would have a lecture the next morning. That gave him somewhat of a dilemma. He had to give the lecture, otherwise it would arise suspicions. However, he couldn’t leave Althea alone and he couldn’t trust Hermione’s babysitter. Leaving her with someone else would lead to questions about why he had Althea and where her mother was.  
  
Unless …  
  
A brilliant idea hit him. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? He could prove that he was Althea’s father and that would put Hermione in an awful situation when she came back. Not only would her friends have questions, but the school would probably kick her out. That would teach her not to try to kill him again. He, of course, had nothing to worry about when it came to the school kicking him out. He knew all the naughty things the people on the council had done. If Hermione begged sweetly, he could help her. But that would have to involve some pretty sweet begging on her end.  
  
However, first, he would have to report her missing. If he reported her missing to the Aurors, he could spin his tale in any way he wanted and possibly flush her out. He knew he would be a suspect, but he had always been excellent at making himself appear innocent. Not to mention that, this time, he really _was_ innocent.   
  
His plan clear in mind, he had no problem leaving Althea with Madeline Nott. As a member of his special study group, she wouldn’t ask that many questions. The thing that mattered was that he could trust Madeline to not let anyone but him collect Althea.  
  
While he held the lecture, his mind worked on what he was going to say to get the greatest advantage. Even though he wanted to take his revenge on Hermione, he still didn’t plan to let her get away from him. When it became official that he was Althea’s father, Hermione wouldn’t keep full custody of Althea. Instead, he was certain they would get shared guardianship to begin with. He could even get full custody by pulling a few strings. Even though the Ministry wasn’t as corrupt as it had been during the war, there were still people who were willing to do favours if the price were right.  Voldemort was also aware of how much Hermione wanted to stay in school. He could make sure she got to stay. If she begged for his help.  
  
Once the lecture was over, he picked up Althea and went straight to the Ministry of Magic. At the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he was asked to wait for about half an hour before what must have been the youngest Auror came to get to him.  
  
“What can I help you with?” the Auror asked, trying to sound very professional, but his nervousness was obvious. He was sitting on the other side of a small desk, and Voldemort doubted he could ever get any peace at work. People walked past the desk all the time to get to the lifts and the rest of the department.  
  
“Well, I’m here to report a missing person. Or, at least I think she is missing … She stormed out her flat Sunday afternoon and hasn’t come back, not even to get her daughter,” Voldemort said, trying to sound sheepish and patting Althea’s shoulder. She sat next to him, following the conversation with great interest.  
  
“Right. What is the person’s name?” he asked and noted something on a clipboard.  
  
“Hermione Granger.”  
  
That made the Auror’s eyes widen. “Excuse me.”   
  
He left the desk, and Voldemort saw him walk over to one of the offices and knock. A moment later, Harry Potter showed up at the door. A few words were exchanged, and then, Potter followed the man over to Voldemort.  
  
“Professor Foster,” Potter asked with a frown. “Auror Perkins says that you want to file a missing person’s report for Hermione?”  
  
“Yes. That is, if you haven’t seen her?” Voldemort asked, pretending to get hopeful.  
  
“No, not since Sunday,” Potter spotted Althea, and his frown deepened. “Please, come with me to my office.”  
  
Voldemort followed the boy who had been the bane of his existence for almost two decades. Nowadays, he just disliked the young man strongly. But he could control that dislike. If he ever got the chance to kill Potter without anyone finding out, he would definitely take it. Until then, he would keep a low profile.  
  
Potter’s office wasn’t big. It only contained a desk slightly bigger than Perkins’s had been and a couple of chairs. Just as he remembered Potter’s brain being, the desk was a mess. On the wall behind it, there were pictures of the Weasleys, the boy’s parents’ wedding photo and one rather large picture with Potter, the youngest Weasley boy and Hermione in Hogwarts attire. Voldemort held back a snort. Potter’s weaknesses had always been easy to see, but this was ridiculous.  
  
Voldemort sat down in one of the wooden chairs and placed Althea in his lap when she stretched her arms up at him. Potter seemed rather puzzled about this but didn’t comment on it.  
  
“What makes you think Hermione is missing?” he asked instead.  
  
“The fact that I’ve been taking care of Althea since Sunday night,” Voldemort said. “She asked me to watch over Althea because a friend of hers from school, Victoria Cole, had a small crisis she needed help with.”   
  
Voldemort had planted a memory of this in Cole’s mind just after class.  
  
“When she didn’t come home that night, I figured Miss Cole needed a bit more help and I stayed the night with Althea. When she wasn’t back on Monday, I went to Miss Cole’s flat, but neither of them were there. I thought it was strange that Hermione hadn’t contacted me but decided to wait until today. Then, after class this morning, I met Miss Cole, and she said Hermione had never made it to her flat. That was when I decided to go straight here,” Voldemort said, making sure worry was evident on his face. “And I don’t think I have to mention how alarming it is when Hermione doesn’t show up for class.”  
  
“That is alarming,” Potter said, but he was still looking at him through narrowed eyes, seemingly to judge whether he was telling the truth or not. Then, he looked at Althea. “Althea, is this true? Has your mum been missing since Sunday?”  
  
Althea, who didn’t have a concept of which day was which, just frowned. “Mum hit Dad, then go pop.”  
  
Voldemort froze. Although he had told Althea to call him “Dad” in public, he had not said anything about mentioning the fight. This would not look good.  
  
Potter blinked as well; then, he suddenly had his wand aimed at Voldemort. “I have to ask you to hand in your wand, Professor Foster.”  
  
Since he knew resisting would only make him look more guilty, he withdrew his wand from his pocket and laid it on Potter’s desk. It wasn’t like he didn’t have another wand hidden where no one would find it. The wand he had given to Harry was the wand he only used when he was playing Marcus Foster. The wand had a very different magical signature than Voldemort’s own wand, which he used when he did his Voldemort things.   
  
“Now, tell me the truth about what happened Sunday night and the truth about your relationship with Hermione,” Potter ordered, still having his wand aimed at Voldemort.   
  
However, since the boy’s favourite spell was so harmless, Voldemort could hardly say he was worried. Yet, the urge to kill the boy had grown quite a bit. But that was not why he was here, luckily enough for Potter.  
  
“I didn’t lie,” Voldemort said slowly. “I just … didn’t say the whole truth.”  
  
He took a deep breath, making a show of looking slightly ashamed.   
  
“I am Althea’s father. You can have St. Mungo’s test our DNA later. I know they do that now.” He paused, stroking his daughter’s hair. “I didn’t know Hermione before she started at Oxford. All I remembered was a drunk night with a beautiful woman. Then, this summer, she moved into the flat next to mine, and … well, I recognised her. It was a shock to discover that I had a daughter, but I wanted to do what was right. Hermione and I started meeting, just as friends, really.”  
  
“Then … I fell in love with her.” Voldemort made sure to look fond as he told the biggest lie of his life. “I haven’t told her yet, but … I think she feels the same way.”  
  
“Of course, sometimes we have our misunderstandings,” Voldemort continued with a grimace after a moment’s pause. “I came home after a two weeks trip on Saturday night and found her drunk as a broom at the doorstep to our house. I helped her up to her flat, but I wasn’t too happy about her doing that to herself. Then, on Sunday night, I came in to talk to her about it and … well, she slapped me and said something about me not being her father. Then, she stormed out, claiming she had a friend to take care of. That’s why I didn’t find it too strange that she didn’t return that night. I thought she was still angry with me.”  
  
Potter was still looking at him with suspicion. “How do I know that you didn’t strike back when Hermione hit you?”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes widened.   
  
“I would never hit her, Mr Potter,” he said, as if the mere thought were outrageous. “I can’t say I’m happy about being hit, but I do understand why she did it, even though I think it’s wrong. She was still feeling miserable because of the hangover, and I did come down quite hard on her about the partying.”  
  
Voldemort could see that Potter found it believable, but there was still a lot of suspicion in his eyes. “Why didn’t Hermione tell us that you are Althea’s father?”  
  
“I’m her teacher,” Voldemort stated. “She would most likely get thrown out if the school were to find out about us. However, Miss Weasley once saw us together and figured it out. Hermione made her swear not to tell anyone.”  
  
Potter didn’t say anything, but Voldemort could see that Potter was surprised his girlfriend hadn’t told him about it. Then, the boy rose.   
  
“I’ll have to start a search for Hermione. We also have to determine whether or not you are in fact Althea’s father. If you wait here, I’ll have an Auror escort you two to St. Mungo’s and then back here for more questions.”  
  
“I don’t think I actually need an Auror to find my way to St. Mungo’s,” Voldemort protested, standing up and lowering Althea down on her feet as well.  
  
“This will be much easier for you if you cooperate, Professor,” Potter said in a hard tone.   
  
It was clear that he was both angry with the situation and worried about Hermione but somehow managed to stay professional. Voldemort held back a smile. It seemed like Potter had learned to control his temper. Voldemort wondered how much it would take to make Potter lose his temper. Alas, that would have to wait until a later date.  
  
An Auror escorted them to St. Mungo’s and allowed them to eat dinner before returning to Potter’s office. The boy wasn’t  there yet, which was good since Althea was rather talkative.  
  
“ _When will Mum get home_?” She wanted to know.  
  
“ _That’s why we are here, to have them find her_ ,” Voldemort answered, making sure no one was around to hear them talking in Parseltongue. “ _Once your mother sees_ _that we are looking for her, she will no doubt come running home_.”  
  
Althea was about to say something more, but right then, Potter opened the door, and Voldemort hushed her.  
  
Potter’s face was grim, and he was holding a thin file with papers.    
  
“Well, this is proof that you are Althea’s father. But I’ll have to ask you to stay here and answer some more questions. Perhaps it will be best if you let someone else take care of Althea? I just talked to Ginny, and she is more than happy to look after her.”  
  
Voldemort did his best not to curse out loud. They were going to interrogate him. Well, it wasn’t too strange, and hopefully, he wouldn’t have to stay too long. Better to just play meek. He didn’t like to let Althea stay with a Weasley, but if this did take long, Althea would become whiny. He probably shouldn’t try his patience with that as well.  
  
“Fine,” he said and didn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.  
  
Potter left the office again.  
  
“ _What did H mean, Dad?_ ” Althea asked, her eyes wide of worry. “ _Why do I have to be with Gin?_ ”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “ _Potter wants to ask me some more questions, and that will probably take the rest of the day. You’ll be more comfortable with Ginevra_.”  
  
Althea took a hard grip of his arm. “ _I don’t want to go to Gin! I want to stay with you!_ ”  
  
Right then, Potter came back with his fiancée, and Voldemort switched from Parseltongue to English. “Althea, it will be best like this. I’m sure you will have much more fun with Miss Weasley.”  
  
“ _I don’t want to have fun! I want to stay with you!_ ” Althea cried, sticking her small nails into his arm.  
  
Since Potter and Weasley were watching, Voldemort knew he couldn’t hex Althea for annoying him. Instead, he hugged her.   
  
“I won’t be gone long, Althea. You just have to be a big girl and—”  
  
Althea’s wail of sorrow interrupted him. She threw her arms around his neck and wouldn’t let go, no matter how he tried to soothe her.  
  
He glanced at Potter and Weasley and saw that both of them looked very uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, he felt a shiver run through him. At once, Althea stopped screaming and just sobbed softly against his neck. Voldemort turned in his chair. It felt like someone was standing right behind him. But he couldn’t see anyone. Not even a glimmer of an invisible someone. Besides, Potter and Weasley stood right in the doorway; no one could have got inside.  
  
Yet, Althea’s focus seemed to have turned to something else. But since Voldemort didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that something seemed to be going on with Althea, he simply continued to soothe her.  
  
After a few minutes, she loosened her grip around his neck and fell back on his lap. She looked much calmer. Voldemort stroked her tears away with his thumb.  
  
“Do you think you can go with Miss Weasley now, Althea?” he asked softly.  
  
She nodded. “ _Shadow-friend promised to stay with me._ ”  
  
Another shiver went through him. It felt like there was something he knew but had forgotten. However, there was no time for him to investigate that now; he had to focus on the interrogation. Therefore, he only leaned in and kissed her forehead.  
  
“That’s good, Althea,” he whispered. “I’ll be back before you know it.”  
  
When he stood up, Althea willingly slid down his lap and followed him over to Weasley and Potter. She took Weasley’s hand, and Weasley mumbled some promises about how much fun they were going to have. Voldemort leaned down again and hugged Althea goodbye.  
  
Once his daughter had disappeared down the hall with Weasley, Potter turned to him. “If you would come with me, Professor Foster.”  
  
Voldemort just nodded and followed the boy down to the interrogation rooms. Potter was still holding the file in his hand, and Voldemort saw the label “Foster, Marcus” on it. He groaned. It was never a good sign when the Aurors created a file for you.  
  
The interrogation room they stepped into was small and empty except for a table with three chairs around it. At one side of the wall, a big one-way window was placed. Potter gestured to Voldemort to sit on the chair which was facing the window and then took the chair at the opposite side from him. A moment later, the door opened again, and an older Auror entered. Voldemort immediately recognised him as John Dawlish and knew he was in for quite an interrogation.  
  
“Professor Foster,” Dawlish said, his expression and tone completely professional. “Potter has told me about Miss Granger, but I’d like to hear your version of your relationship with Miss Granger as well as what transpired before her disappearance.”  
  
Voldemort told Dawlish the same things he had told Potter but in a slightly different way and with some other details, so his tale wouldn’t sound rehearsed. Dawlish made some notes as Voldemort spoke, while Potter just said quietly next to his superior, studying Voldemort closely.  
  
“There is surprisingly little information about you, Professor Foster,” Dawlish commented once Voldemort had finished his tale. “All we have is a birth certificate, your father’s wish to have you home-schooled and your N.E.W.T.s scores. Then, there is no other information until three-and-a-half years ago when you received your doctoral degree in Japan. That is over ten years of no information. Do you care to enlighten us?”  
  
Voldemort didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “I can’t see what that has to do with Hermione being missing. Shouldn’t you be out, trying to find her?”  
  
“We have already begun searching for her,” Dawlish answered. “However, if we are to solve this, we have to look at everyone as a suspect. You admit to having a fight with her prior to her disappearance. That is suspicious, as is the lack of knowledge of your past. In my experience, the less you know about a person, the more that person got to hide.”  
  
Voldemort pressed his lips together. “Yes, I got some things I rather not speak about, but that has nothing to do with Hermione. Why can’t you just try to find her?”  
  
“If you really want us to find her, we have to do a thorough job, which means follow up on every lead. From what Mr Potter has told me, Miss Granger isn’t the type of person to leave without telling anyone anything. That indicates that she has been taken by force.”  
  
Voldemort realised that it was indeed what it started to look like. Perhaps Hermione wasn’t staying away because she was afraid to face him. Perhaps someone had kidnapped her. But who? A few names popped up in his head. Damn it, he needed to get out of here to find out.  
  
“Then it’s even more important that you try to find the real kidnapper,” he growled, his patience running thin. “Didn’t you just release Lucius Malfoy for example? Hermione was worried about him coming after her. Shouldn’t you go and see if he had anything to do with this?”  
  
He could see Potter blink. Apparently, the boy thought it was a possibility.   
  
“We will,” Dawlish ensured him. “But first, I want to make sure you have nothing to do with this. And to do that, I need to know more about your character. Hence, you need to tell me a bit about why there are so few papers about you.”  
  
Voldemort groaned and pressed his hands against his face for a few seconds. Then, he looked up again, as if he had just collected himself.   
  
“What can I say? My Muggle father raised me. When he died, not long after my seventeenth birthday, I decided to leave Britain once I had taken my N.E.W.T.s. I searched for my mother whom I have never known. That took quite some time since she lived with her tribe in the Amazon. Once there, I discovered that she was dead, but I still decided to stay with some other relatives to learn more about my background.”  
  
Voldemort paused, as if he were uncertain to what he would say next. When the Aurors didn’t ask any questions, he continued his made-up life story.   
  
“Three years after that, I continued to travel the world. When I heard rumors that You-Know-Who was back in Britain, I didn’t feel inclined to return here. I only did it one time, ironically just a few days before the battle at Hogwarts, to pick up my N.E.W.T.s papers and see what my chances of getting into university were. I was disappointed to find out that I couldn’t get my nearly finished doctoral thesis published in Britain because of their rules about having to actually attend their universities. That night, I drank my sorrows away and found a girl who did the same for some reason. I can’t say I’m very proud about the fact that I had a one-night stand with a teenager, but there you go.”  
  
“Your mother was from the Parselmouth tribe in the Amazon?” Potter asked, frowning.  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “Yes. And as you no doubt have concluded, Althea got her ability to speak Parsel from me. Which is something I’m not too keen to tell people due to obvious reasons.”  
  
Dawlish didn’t seem to be soothed by that. Instead, he suddenly got an expression which told Voldemort Dawlish was starting to see him more and more as a potential kidnapper. Fucking hell.  
  
“I’ve heard about that tribe,” the senior Auror said sternly. “Notorious pack of dark wizards. Did you start to practice the Dark Arts before or after you met them?”  
  
“That’s absurd!” Voldemort cried in disbelief. “I don’t practice the Dark Arts. I can’t help who my mother is.”  
  
“But you said you spent three years with that tribe,” Dawlish reminded him.  
  
“Yes, to learn more about my family. I have never had any wish to become a Dark Arts practitioner.”  
  
Things weren’t going exactly according to plan for Voldemort. If Potter had been the only one there, Voldemort could have focused on attacking Potter’s weak spots to get the boy to feel sympathy for him. However, Dawlish seemed almost convinced that Voldemort had had a hand in Hermione’s disappearance. Annoying Aurors. They were asking way too many questions.  
  
“Very well. Let’s talk about this weekend instead. You said that you found Hermione drunk outside your house at two in the morning, correct?” Dawlish asked.  
  
“Yes, a bit after two, I think,” Voldemort said with a sigh.  
  
“And she was alone?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“See, this is what doesn’t make sense,” Dawlish said as he bent down and retrieved another file from the briefcase he had placed next to him. “We have witnesses that claim Miss Granger left a party that night together with another one of your students, Mr Peter Wood. The thing is that he, too, is missing. Perhaps you can say something about that?”  
  
Voldemort stared at Dawlish. Yes, he could think of two words to say. Bloody Hell.

 

xxx

  
Hermione didn’t know how much time had gone by. She had been locked inside a small, dark room for quite some time. At least a couple of days. The room only contained a wooden bench with a disgusting excuse for a blanket and a hole in the ground where she could do her business. A small gap opened in the door now and again, and a bowl with a porridge-like dish (but tasted like something else entirely) was pushed in. She had tried to ask her capturer questions, when the bowl was pushed through, but got no answers. However, she did have an idea who it was.   
  
Voldemort might like to torture her, but she didn’t think he would be able to leave her alone for this long. It had to be Malfoy. She wasn’t certain if it were Senior or Junior, but it wouldn’t surprise her if they worked together. What she couldn’t work out was what they wanted. If they wanted her dead, they would have had plenty of time by now. Even though it was considered torture to leave someone in a small room with almost no light, Hermione did think a Death Eater could do better. She was mostly bored, hungry and in desperate need of a shower. She tried finding a way to break free, but nothing she could think of worked.  
  
She was about to get really desperate when something finally happened.  
  
The door finally swung open. The sudden light hurt her eyes, and she couldn’t make out who had just entered. She pressed her hands against her tender eyes and, therefore, didn’t see the arm until it had pulled her off the bed she had been sitting on. She blinked a couple of times, until her eyes had fully adjusted.  
  
“Good morning, scum.”  
  
Shivers went down her back as she recognised Lucius Malfoy’s voice.   
  
“Why are you doing this to me?” she hissed, finally able to see him. He was, as usual, clad in the most exclusive wizard clothing, but otherwise, he had changed. His face seemed sunken in, like he had lost a lot of weight and his eyes were … strange. Mad but yet intelligent. And hateful. Most of all, hateful. “You do realise my friends will be looking for me! When they find me, they will—”  
  
“You are here to pay for your crimes,” Malfoy interrupted her, a sadistic smile playing on his lips.  
  
“Crimes?” Hermione asked in disbelief.  
  
His slap fell so fast on her cheek she didn’t have time to turn.   
  
“Insolent piece of shit! You and your kind have destroyed my world. Now you will pay.”  
  
“What? I haven’t done anything to you, even though you have tried to curse me several times and watched me being tortured–” She was interrupted when he slapped her again.  
  
“Silence! I have paid for my crimes, and now, you’ll pay for yours.”   
  
Now he was just looking crazy again.   
  
“I’ll keep you here for four years and let you experience everything I experienced when I was in prison. Nothing more, nothing less.”  
  
Hermione continued to stare at him. What the hell was wrong with him? It seemed like Azkaban continued to make people crazy, despite the fact that there were no longer any Dementors there. She didn’t know if she should laugh or try to talk some sense in him. If she had her wand, she would have hexed some sense into him.  
  
“Your first discipline, whipping, will begin now. Stand up and place your hands against the wall,” Malfoy said, making a scary-looking whip appear.  
  
“What?” Hermione growled, watching the whip with an increasing portion of fear. Even though Malfoy seemed to be completely mental, she didn’t doubt that he could inflict quite a bit of pain with that whip. She did not want that one bit.  
  
“Oh, yes. The guards at Azkaban believe strongly in physical discipline. And they don’t see us as humans at all. Just someone that needs discipline.  Or a hole to stick their cocks in.”  
  
“WHAT?”  
  
He watched her coldly. “Don’t worry. That will not be happening yet. Now, hands on the wall.”  
  
Hermione could only see one option: try to make a run for it. She hoped to catch him off guard by just pushing him aside and running past him. However, he must have seen what she had planned because he managed to catch her and push her back at the wall. Hermione stumbled and fell down on the ground. Before she had time to stand by herself, he waved his wand at her, making her fly up against the wall, sticking there as if the wall were made of glue.  
  
She tried to struggle. However, when the whip landed on her back for the first time, all she could think about was the excruciating pain. She screamed.  
  



	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks and cookies and sweet dreams to Nerys for betaing. Also, thanks to Trelaney for reminding me of Lucius's pimp cane. Can't have a story without it!

**Chapter 19**  
  
  
Hermione was running a high fever. It could be from a lot of reasons: The bleeding wounds on her back could be infected; the draft and cold could have made her catch pneumonia, or it could be something else entirely. The problem was that there was no one around to help her. Malfoy hadn’t been down since the beating, which had to have been several days ago. She had decided to try a more sneaky attack the next time. If she had managed to take down Voldemort, then surely, she could beat one of his former minions?  
  
The problem was that she became weaker by the hour. If he didn’t come down soon, she wouldn’t have the strength to get out of bed at all. Merlin, she hated the blond arse. She had never hated anyone as much in her life. Not even Voldemort.  
  
Being locked up here had really made her revalue her relationship with Voldemort. She knew he was capable of the exact same thing as Lucius was, and yet, he had never hurt her this much. She had spent a lot of time trying to figure out why that was and, in the end, she thought it had to do with power. Lucius wanted power, and he certainly had her at his mercy. Voldemort often claimed he did everything for power, and she had felt how much he craved it. They both wanted power and took it by controlling others. Lucius had taken her; Voldemort killed Muggles. She had felt how satisfied Voldemort had been by taking their lives, but he was also satisfied when they were having sex.  
  
That had made her thinking that perhaps she could try to make some sort of bargain with Malfoy so he would let her leave or send a message. Then, she could tell Voldemort about him and have him kill Malfoy.  
  
The thought about using Voldemort as an assassin had bothered her at first, but now, she didn’t care anymore. She wanted the blond ex-Death Eater to die. She wanted this to be over. Why wasn’t Voldemort here to help her with that? Was it just that he didn’t know, or did he want her to suffer for what she had done to him?  
  
She must have drifted to sleep, because she awoke with a start when the door opened.  
  
“Up. You are on laundry duty today,” Malfoy ordered.  
  
So much for a sneak attack. Best to try bargaining then. “Look, Mr Malfoy, you don’t need to keep me locked inside here all the time. I’m sure we could work out some other arrangement to—”  
  
He kicked her off the bed. She stood up slowly, trying to fight the pain in her body. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out from the cell and down a dark corridor. She tried to talk more about an arrangement, but he ignored her.  
  
They reached a door, and she was pushed inside a small room. In the middle of it was a huge tub filled with water. On the floor next to the tub lay a big pile of clothes. Apparently, he wasn’t kidding. It made her more furious than everything else. What was she? Some sort of slave?  
  
“Surely it would only take a second to clean this with a wand?” she hissed, swaying a bit on her feet, trying to fight the dizziness she was experiencing.  
  
He merely pushed her down at the pile of clothes, making her whimper in pain. “If this isn’t clean when I return in two hours, you’ll be sorry.”  
  
He turned around and left. Hermione stared after him. Why was he doing this to her? Were there other people here as well, being tortured? She had to get out of here or make someone aware of where she was.  
  
A thought occurred to her. Harry was Lucius’s probation officer. He came to Malfoy Manor every week to make sure Lucius didn’t do anything. If she could just make sure Lucius wasn’t able to come and greet Harry, Harry would try to find him. They had ways to track down people on probation. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been since she was captured, but she doubted it was more than a week. If she were lucky, Harry would come later this day or tomorrow. She just needed to knock Lucius down.  
  
Looking around the room, she tried to find something that could help her. The walls were made of stone with no windows. The tub was made of wood. The clothes were just fabric. How was she supposed to wash them with only water, anyway?  
  
Testing, she dumped a black cloak in the water. The water began to bubble. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. She knew how to use a washing machine, but how were you supposed to get the clothes clean with just bubbling water? When she was younger, she had seen some show on the telly about how women had done housework back in the days, but she couldn’t remember how laundry had been done. Only that it had looked hard and heavy. Speaking of shows on telly though, there was another thing she had seen that could be done with wet fabric: hit someone.  
  
Yes, she was sure she could make a sneak attack with that. She just had to wait at the door, and when he came, she could take a swing at him.  
  
However, just in case it didn’t work, she really ought to try cleaning her wounds and the rest of her body when she was in the presence of water. She would be damned before she actually tried to do the laundry. She still had some dignity.  
  
She removed her torn shirt and used one of the clothes in the pile as a washcloth. Strangely enough, they didn’t seem dirty at all. Could Malfoy have thrown some clothes in there just so she would have something to do? She didn’t see the point of it other than to make her suffer. Well, for Malfoy that was probably enough.  
  
She spent the next two hours cleaning herself and resting. She wanted to gather her strength and was always listening carefully after steps in the corridor. She had heard him walk away before and was sure she would hear him come again.  
  
When she heard steps once more, adrenaline shot through her. Ignoring the pain, hunger and dizziness, she pulled the wet fabric from the tub and twisted it. She hurried to the door and, as it opened, she swung the fabric with all the strength she could muster right down on Malfoy. He let out a scream and stumbled backwards. Hermione struck again, right at the side of his head, making him fall against the heavy door.  
  
Malfoy lay there, motionless, and Hermione sank to the floor. Her heart was beating so hard that it was painful. The wounds on her back felt like they had reopened and throbbed so much that it brought tears to her eyes. Crawling forward, she searched his robe, trying to find his wand. Her hand came in contact with something round and hard. Withdrawing it, she saw that it was Malfoy’s silly cane.   
  
Right, he hid his wand under the snake head.  
  
She quickly pulled out the wand, one eye at Malfoy, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. She noticed he was bleeding rapidly from his head wound. He must have hit the doorknob when he fell down. Perhaps he would die?  
  
Something dark arose within her. She wanted him to die. She also wanted someone to come and help her. She knew that those on probation were monitored. If they used an illegal curse, the Aurors would know and come at once. The monitoring spell was on the wand, which she was now holding. So, if she cursed him with an illegal spell, they would come.  
  
Without thinking of the consequences of casting an Unforgivable Curse, Hermione whispered the most forbidden of them all. She knew she had succeeded. It felt different from when she had used it on Voldemort. It gave her a dark sense of relief, until she blacked out again.

 

xxx

 

“For the last time, I didn’t see Wood Saturday night and I certainly didn’t kidnap or kill Hermione,” Voldemort said for what must have been the hundredth time.   
  
He no longer had to mask his irritation; any wizard would be irritated if they had been held in custody for two days. What he had to hold back was the increasing urge to take Dawlish’s wand and kill him with it. He knew plenty of ways to do that but, if he did, he would never be able to be seen as Marcus Foster again. And he had spent a lot of time and resources to make a name for himself in this new alter ego. He was reluctant to let go of him for something as silly as this.  
  
“Why are you so certain that the two disappearances are connected, anyway?” Voldemort wanted to know. “Hermione has told me a lot about what she did in the war. Would it be so strange if some Death Eater or even You-Know-Who has taken her? Have you checked Malfoy? Hermione told me about his release just a month ago and how worried she was that he would come after her or her friends.”  
  
That was, of course, a lie. However, during the last two days here, Voldemort had become quite sure that Lucius was behind Hermione’s kidnapping. If she were indeed kidnapped and hadn’t run off and got herself killed in some other way. Still, he wanted to be out there and find out for himself.  
  
“Two students, who were seen leaving a party together, and they both disappeared without a trace. What do you think the odds are that those crimes aren’t connected?” Dawlish wanted to know. He was irritated as well, but Voldemort suspected it was because the Auror thought Voldemort would have confessed by now.  
  
“Just because the odds are bad doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility. Wood could have left Hermione at her door when he realised she wouldn’t sleep with him, and then, he could have had an accident for all I know. Isn’t that just as likely? I mean, Wood is an excellent student, but if he were as drunk as Hermione …” Voldemort trailed off, shrugging.  
  
“I find it very interesting that you are making up other scenarios,” Dawlish commented, writing down a note in the file.  
  
“Since you clearly can’t find the truth, someone has to come up with new ideas,” Voldemort spat. “I know _I_ didn’t kidnap either Wood or Hermione.”  
  
Dawlish seemed to be about to say something else, but right then, the door opened and someone Voldemort didn’t know called Dawlish out. Voldemort sighed as the Auror left and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.  
  
The last time they had interrogated him, Potter had been there as well. At least he seemed to believe Voldemort now. Voldemort had actually made himself cry out of fake worry for Hermione. That had finally managed to convince Potter of his innocence.  
  
However, Voldemort didn’t have much hope that Potter would be able to break Hermione out if she were indeed held captured by Lucius Malfoy. The blond arse would have placed Hermione in one of the secret dungeons in his mansion. Voldemort had helped put the wards around it himself and he knew the Aurors wouldn’t find it.  
  
With a growl, he smashed his hands down on the table before standing up and starting to pace. At least he knew that Althea was with her grandparents. Potter had told him this the last time he had been here. Despite the fact that he risked his superior’s disapproval if he were to find out.  
  
That Potter seemed to be the only one to believe his innocence was a small victory at least. Once they found out that “Marcus” actually were innocent, he was sure Potter wouldn’t cause him much trouble ever again.  
  
He had been alone in the interrogation room for almost two hours when the door finally opened. To Voldemort’s surprise, it was Potter who opened it.  
  
“We’ve found Hermione.” Judging by the angst on the boy’s face, something was terribly wrong.  
  
“Where is she?” he asked, taking on a worried face at once.  
  
“St. Mungo’s.”  
  
Voldemort made sure to look horrified. “You have to take me to her!”  
  
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. You are no longer a suspect; follow me.” Potter quickly led him to the nearest Apparition point where they Apparated to St. Mungo’s.  
  
Once there, Potter only had to wave his identification to be let into the now guarded ward with Voldemort in tow. Voldemort did his best to look worried, but he was in fact only curious to find out what had really happened to Hermione. He was also very relieved to finally be out of custody. He would make sure the Aurors regretted putting him there. But those plans would have to be put on hold for now. He needed to focus on Hermione.  
  
They were taken into a sterile hospital room with only one bed. Someone was lying on her stomach in it. Judging by the hair, it was Hermione. She had been badly whipped. He frowned, not recognising the style.  
  
“What happened?” he asked in his best horrified voice.  
  
“There was an alarm of an Unforgivable being used by a monitored wand. I went to investigate and found Hermione there. She must have been locked up there since she disappeared,” Potter explained with genuine sorrow and quite a lot of anger in his voice.  
  
“Who?” he asked.  
  
“Lucius Malfoy.”  
  
Voldemort cursed. “I told you he had done it! Why didn’t you go there earlier?”  
  
“We did,” Potter said, clearly feeling very guilty. “She was hidden away. We didn’t find her.”  
  
Voldemort held back some more angry comments. He would deal with them later. “Will she be alright?” he asked instead, while thinking of a way to best execute Malfoy.  
  
“She will live but … we don’t know exactly what she had to endure and how that may have affected her,” Potter said in a low voice.  
  
“Excuse me, Mr Potter?” A Healer in a purple cloak called from the doorway.  
  
Potter placed a hand on Voldemort’s shoulder in some gesture of comfort. It almost made Voldemort flinch. He stood tense until he heard the door close. Then, he grimaced and walked up to the bed. Finally, it was time to show Hermione that she was at his mercy and not the other way around.  
  
Hermione had her head bent to her right and seemed to be unconscious. Her back was bare and they had spread some kind of ointment over the wounds. It was already beginning to heal, but he could see that it would take some time for them to disappear completely.  
  
He sat down on the edge of the bed and touched her hand gently. She woke up with a groan. He kept his hand on hers and tilted his head, looking at her. How come he always forgot how good touching her felt?  
  
“Vol…”  
  
He placed his other hand over her lips. “Hush, kitten. You are at St. Mungo’s.”  
  
Her eyes began to fill with tears before she closed them again and took a deep breath. He watched her for a moment, continuing to hold her hand.  
  
“Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked in a hoarse, fearful voice. She was most likely worried that she had escaped one homicidal lunatic only to fall in the hands of another.  
  
He regarded her closely. “Do you really think I would have chosen such a crude method to punish you?”  
  
She sighed. “Not really.”  
  
“Indeed, I want you in one delicious piece,” he said with a smile, letting his hand travel up her arm.  
  
She shuddered. “I guess it won’t help to say that I’m sorry?”  
  
“For trying to kill me? No. But in your absence I’ve made things even between us,” he said softly, stroking some of her hair away from her face.  
  
“What have you done?” she asked, more despondently than worriedly. He could see the fear disappearing as well. She knew he wouldn’t try to hurt her now.  
  
“The world knows Althea is my daughter now, which means the school has found out about our relationship or they will do so soon. If you cause me anymore problems, I can take Althea and get you kicked out of Oxford. ”  
  
A few more tears fell down from her eyes. “And I’ll have to rely on you, then.”  
  
“Exactly.” That was why he enjoyed her so much. She was always so quick to understand. “However, if you beg very sweetly and behave, I can get you to stay at Oxford. Although, I think you’ll have to kiss that scholarship of yours goodbye.”  
  
“So that you can support me?”  
  
“I think we could work out an arrangement for that as well, yes.”  
  
She grimaced but seemed otherwise too tired to react. “Where is Althea?”  
  
“With your parents. I’ve been in custody. They thought I had kidnapped you and Wood.”  
  
She frowned. “But you …”  
  
He pressed his other hand over her lips and leaned down so he was a mere inch from her ear. “If anyone asks, you only remember turning Wood down and him leaving you. If you breathe one word about what I did, you’ll see how the Avada is really meant to work.”  
  
Seeing she got the message, he made an attempt to rise. He figured she would behave for at least the rest of the day, but Hermione let out small: “No!”  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her.  
  
The conflicting emotions of fear and need were clear on her face. “It hurts less when you touch me.”  
  
“Interesting,” he remarked.   
  
However, he sat down, holding her hand once again. It was good that she realised she needed him.  
  
Not many minutes later, the door opened again and a Healer stepped in with Potter.  
  
“Hermione,” Potter said, relieved. “You are awake.  
  
Voldemort tried not to be bothered by the loss of pleasure when he had to let go of Hermione’s hand. She, however, let out a whimper. The female Healer took his place and started to check her wounds. Voldemort pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.  
  
“If you are feeling like it, Miss Granger, I believe you can sit up as I put another cream on your back before putting the bandages on,” the Healer said kindly.  
  
Hermione nodded and slowly turned around to sit up. Potter seemed a bit uncomfortable witnessing his nude friend and turned his gaze away. Hermione didn’t seem to notice; she was in too much pain. But Voldemort noticed and wanted to growl, but he kept himself quiet. Now was not the time to hex boys.  
  
“Do you think you can tell me what happened, Hermione?” Potter said once Hermione had the blanket around her and was leaning against her bent knees. “How did he capture you?”  
  
Hermione was grimacing as the Healer applied the new cream, but she answered him nonetheless. “I was waiting for a friend of mine, Victoria, outside her flat when Draco came. We argued; he stunned me, and the next thing I knew, I was in a cell.”  
  
“Draco Malfoy managed to stun you?” Voldemort asked in disbelief.  
  
Hermione sent him an angry glare, but it lacked her usual passion. “In the back. I was walking away from him.”  
  
“I see,” Voldemort remarked, surprised that Hermione had let herself be caught so easily.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at him and then turned back to Potter, answering the rest of his questions. She told them what had transpired in the cell in a rather emotionless tone. She was probably still in shock from what had happened. Voldemort had no doubt she would react to it when some time had passed. If he played his cards right, he would be there to tie her even closer to him when that happened.  
  
He was surprised Hermione admitted to killing Lucius Malfoy, but it pleased him all the same. It was always much easier to work with people who let their own dark side take over now and again. While society had to disapprove of murder, he could tie her closer to him merely by saying she had done the right thing in killing Malfoy that way.  
  
“Besides the whipping, did Lucius Malfoy hurt you in any other physical way?” Potter asked when she had finished her story.  
  
“No,” Hermione replied. “I only saw him those two times: when he whipped me and when he took me to do laundry.”  
  
“So no … sexual assault?” the Healer asked in a careful tone.  
  
“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione replied slowly. “I was asleep a lot, but I think I would notice if anyone molested me in my sleep.”  
  
Voldemort suddenly got a very bad feeling in his gut.  
  
“When is the last time you had sexual intercourse, Miss Granger?” the Healer asked, glancing from Hermione to Voldemort.  
  
“Three weeks ago.”  
  
The tense silence was heavy over them. Voldemort did his best to look as puzzled as Hermione. Yet, he felt more like hexing the Healer and Potter before they had time to vocalise whatever news they had that made them seem this uncomfortable.  
  
“What is it?” Hermione was clearly annoyed.  
  
“While you were unconscious, the Healers ran all the diagnostics they usually do after a kidnapping,” Potter explained carefully. “Looking for all sorts of internal injuries and signs of, er, rape.”  
  
Silence. Voldemort was sweating rivers. No. No, no, no, no …  
  
“I haven’t been raped,” Hermione remarked. “I think I would know if I had been raped.”  
  
“That is good, Miss Granger,” the Healer said. “However, it would appear you have recently been inseminated and … you have become pregnant.”  
  
Voldemort’s legs felt like spaghetti. He wanted to throw up. Even if Malfoy had raped her while she was unconscious, Voldemort knew for a fact that the man couldn’t father any children anymore. Voldemort had made certain of that years ago.  If she were pregnant, it was his. Again. Great Salazar, when did he begin making errors such as these?  
  
No. It wasn’t his fault. How could it be?  It wasn’t like they hadn’t fucked before. She was on a contraceptive potion for crying out loud! She must have forgotten to take the next one or something. Yes, he remembered her taking one every month on the same day. She should have taken a new one almost two weeks ago. When he was away …  
  
Unless she had decided to never sleep with him again, thus not needing a contraceptive potion. Oh. Fuck.  
  
“Is there any way to determine whom the father is?” Hermione seemed to have come to her senses as well.  
  
“Not at this early stage, Miss Granger, I’m sorry,” the Healer said.  
  
Hermione’s head snapped back to him, and the passion he was used seeing in her was back. “Marcus?”  
  
Either he could deny it and Hermione would no doubt have an abortion, or he could tell her the truth and she would most likely have an abortion anyway. What would benefit him the most? Telling the truth or lying? Since Hermione seemed to have the uncanny ability to know when he was lying these days, she would probably make a scene if he lied and he didn’t want that. Damage control was the best.  
  
“We had sex the night I came back from the Cook Islands,” he said, confirming her beliefs. “I thought you were still on the contraceptive potion.”  
  
Her eyes were shooting daggers. “How come I don’t remember that?”  
  
“Well, you had a lot to drink,” he muttered. That was probably why she hadn’t remembered to tell him she wasn’t on a contraceptive potion when she had offered herself to him.  
  
Hermione began coughing like crazy. Voldemort immediately rushed over, playing the part of the concerned boyfriend. She had tried to say something that would reveal him. Good thing his curse was working.  
  
The Healer hurried to her other side and tried to determine the source of the coughs. Hermione’s coughs weakened, but she seemed to have lost all energy by then. She sank down on the bed again, lying on her side with her legs curled up in front of her.  
  
“Perhaps you should try to sleep some more, Miss Granger,” the Healer said kindly. “You don’t have to make any decisions today.”  
  
Hermione didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, she was staring at Voldemort, confusion and anger written all over her face.  
  
“Call if you need anything,” the Healer said before leaving.  
  
Potter cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I have to send out an arrest warrant for Draco Malfoy and tell Ginny that you are okay.”  
  
“Tell her I said hi, too,” Hermione just said, sounding very tired.  
  
Potter left. Voldemort leaned forward and took her hand again.  
  
“How could you?” she whispered, and he could see that she was tearing up again. How annoying.  
  
“You were more than willing, Hermione. You actually offered yourself,” he stated, not very pleased with this development.  
  
She stared at him. “Why would I do that?”  
  
“Because you hoped that it would save your snogging mate,” he said scornfully. “Even though that didn’t work, I spared you the memory of seeing what I did to him.”  
  
She closed her eyes and didn’t say anything. After a while he thought she had fallen asleep so he made an attempt to sit up. Hermione grabbed his wrist and opened her eyes again.  
  
“Is there anything I can do to convince you we don’t belong together?” she asked, aggravated. Still, there wasn’t much energy behind her anger. She was too worn-out.  
  
Voldemort looked down at their joined hands. “Do you actually think we don’t when a mere touch makes you wet, kitten?”  
  
She let go of him as if he had burnt her. “There is more to a relationship than sex and you know it. Merlin, how many times have we had this conversation?”  
  
“We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so stubborn.”  
  
“Stop it!”  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
“Just stop being you,” she said, and he could hear that she was close to tears of desperation and anger. “I don’t need this right now. Either you comfort me or get the hell away from me.”  
  
After a moment of consideration, he chose the first since that would get him close to her again. Without saying another word, he lay down on the bed next to her and wrapped an arm around her, careful not to put pressure on her back. She let out a sigh and was soon asleep.

 

xxx

  
If there had been anyone other than Voldemort holding her when she woke up, Hermione might have screamed of fear. However, even in her sleep she had known it was him, and waking up came rather easy. Despite the fact that she had wanted him dead, she felt safe in his arms because it meant Malfoy wasn’t there anymore.   
  
Not that she was sure Voldemort was much better than Malfoy. However, if trying to kill Voldemort didn’t drive him away, what would? Not that she felt inclined to drive him away anymore. Voldemort might be a devil, but he was a devil she knew. Instead of all the other devils out there. But how could she live with the fact that he came home to their bed with blood on his hands? That he had killed a wizard just because she had kissed him? A shiver went through her.  
  
“Cold?” His voice was low, and his hand stroked her arm.  
  
“A little,” she lied, not feeling like it was time for that conversation just yet. “What time is it?”  
  
“Just six. You haven’t slept long.”  
  
“Okay.” She closed her eyes again, shutting out everything but the feeling of his arm around her. She didn’t want to think. Not yet. If she started to think about the cold, dark cell or why her back throbbed, she would only begin to cry. However, sleep would not return.   
  
“I’m hungry.”  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “I’ll get you something to eat if you don’t make a fuss when I stay with you once we come home.”  
  
Hermione would never admit the relief she felt when she realised she wouldn’t have to sleep alone when she left the hospital. “Alright.”  
  
“That was too easy,” he remarked and sat up.  
  
“I want a sandwich with tomato and cheese,” she replied.  
  
He bowed mockingly and left. Hermione sat up in bed, wanting to get all pressure off her back as she waited. Her back was aching, both from lying down too much and from the wounds. She wrapped the blanket closer around her, trying not to think about anything at all. Especially not about how lonely she felt and that the room was getting rather dark. Wasn’t there a lamp here? Where was her wand, by the way? Did she have to get a new one again? It was rather ironic that both her wands had disappeared at Malfoy Manor. Perhaps she was cursed to be captured at Malfoy Manor every four and a half years? Oh, Merlin …  
  
Hermione almost jumped when the door opened. It was Harry again and, to Hermione’s great surprise, her father. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She didn’t like that her parents would be seeing her like this. She had been hurt many times during her years in the wizarding world, but her parents had never seen her then. Now they would see how dangerous her life as a witch really was, and she hated causing them pain and making them worry.  
  
However, at the same time, she was relieved. Her parents were here. She was safe.  
  
“Dad,” she whispered.  
  
Her father, who seemed rather close to tears as well, walked over to her quickly and embraced her. His carefulness told her he had found out about her injuries beforehand.  
  
“I arranged a Portkey for your parents when you were found,” Potter explained, looking a bit anxious about something.  
  
“We wanted to come right away,” Malcolm explained seriously and sat down in one of the chairs. “That is, when they finally told us what was going on.” He sent Harry a dark glare.  
  
“Oh?” Hermione looked from her father to Harry who was biting his lip.  
  
“Your friend Ginny came over a few days ago, asking if we could take care of Althea. She told us you were missing, but we didn’t hear anything else from anyone until now, when Harry here came down to get us.” Malcolm explained bitterly. “You’d think your Ministry would have given us the information instead, but no … Your mother is very angry. She is still at the Ministry, venting.”  
  
Hermione sighed. Yes, that sounded like her mother. When it came to unjust treatment, Helen Granger was like a Niffler to gold. However, in this case, Hermione had to agree with her. Why hadn’t they immediately told her parents what had happened and that she had been found? Alas, Hermione thought she knew the answer: It was because they were Muggles. The Ministry only cared about them as long as it was to keep them ignorant about magic. Even the parents of Muggle-borns were only allowed to know about magic after they had signed a contract, forbidding them to spread their knowledge.   
  
Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the door opening again, revealing Voldemort. His face showed nothing as he looked at her father. Without saying anything, he went over to her bed and handed her a plate with the sandwich.  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione mumbled and looked down at the sandwich.   
  
How on earth would she explain him to her father? Voldemort had said the whole world knew about them. However, it was probably just a figure of speech. She doubted there had been a big announcement in the newspaper or something like that. So, did her parents know or not? In any case, it would probably be better if she told them herself.   
  
“Um, dad, this is Marcus Foster. Marcus, this is my father, Malcolm Granger.”  
  
She didn’t dare look at them.  
  
“I see,” her father said. His cold tone revealed that he did know what that meant. “The missing father returns.”  
  
“Oh, I have been here the entire time. It was your daughter who ran off to the other side of the world. If she hadn’t, I would have been able to take responsibility much sooner.” Voldemort’s voice wasn’t as cold, but it wasn’t friendly either.  
  
“Yes, because you had no responsibility whatsoever at the time of the intercourse,” Malcolm growled.  
  
Hermione realised she should break them up before Voldemort killed her father. Or the other way around. However, she could see Voldemort’s wandhand and it was twitching a bit too much to her liking.  
  
“Dad, stop,” she asked, finally looking at her father’s angry face. “Marcus and I have been over this. We both made mistakes, but that is in the past and we’ve let go of it.”  
  
Malcolm’s face softened a little when he looked at his daughter. “You have to understand, Hermione, that your mother and I were quite disappointed when we heard that you had found Althea’s father and not told us.”  
  
Hermione hated disappointing her parents. She swallowed the sudden impulse to cry. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell anyone.”  
  
Malcolm sighed. “There will be time to talk about this later. Right now, I’m more concerned about how you are feeling.”  
  
Hermione had dreaded that question. Tears started to flow down her cheeks, and she felt like all energy left her. Voldemort’s hand came around hers and squeezed it. She knew he was only pretending to comfort her because her father was there, but she really needed it and leaned closer to him. The sandwich lay forgotten on her lap.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to—”  
  
Her father was on her other side, squeezing her other hand. “It’s alright, Hermione. We don’t have to talk about it right now. But your mother and I are here for you now.”  
  
Hermione cried as the two men comforted her. One of them out of love, the other out of fake love. After some time, she must have drifted to sleep because when she came to, she was alone and it was dark around her. She immediately tried to find a light source. With her hand she searched for the table next to her. When she touched something, the room brightened. Hermione took a deep breath. It was a magical lamp, lightening on touch. Thank Merlin. Hogwarts had something similar in most corridors so that lights turned on when someone walked close to it.  
  
She looked around the empty room, feeling rather lonely. She wanted to see Althea. What had the girl thought when she had been away from Hermione for so long? Merlin, she was not a very good mother at all.  
  
Thinking about her one daughter brought her thoughts to an area she hadn’t wished to visit. The fact that she was pregnant again. Her hand moved to her stomach. Since she had barely eaten anything for the past week, she was even thinner than normally. Her hipbones and ribs were poking out from under the skin.  
  
She didn’t feel pregnant but didn’t doubt the Healer’s abilities. However, it had just been a little over a week since they had sex. From the books she had read, she knew that there was barely a foetus to speak of. If she hadn’t been here, it would probably have taken another month until she’d notice something was off. In Althea’s case, she hadn’t known at all until four months had passed. Her morning sickness had been so mild, and it hadn’t been unusual for her to have a wacky period. Would she notice the changes in her body more this time around?  
  
Hermione frowned when she realised what she was thinking. Like she would let the pregnancy go that far that her body would start to change. Would she? With Althea she had tried every possible way to get an abortion. Now she could get one and, if she did it soon, she probably wouldn’t even notice it leaving her body.  
  
Even though she was older, she wasn’t really in a position to have more children. Money would be a big issue as it were if she lost her scholarship (which she definitely would if they found out that she and “Marcus” had had more sex, which would be obvious if she kept the child). She would not crawl back and hide with her parents this time.  
  
Also, she really wanted to continue at Oxford. Even if she could wait until the children were older, what sort of work could she get with one young child and another on the way? Even though there were laws to prevent any kind of discrimination, she had no illusions about the world, both Muggle and wizard. Only a few employers would hire a young woman with a kid on the way. Even if she began at once, she would only be able to work less than nine months before she had to take maternity leave. That was assuming she would feel well enough during the pregnancy to work every day.  
  
Then, there was Voldemort. Even if he would accept her keeping the child (and she wasn’t sure he would), he wouldn’t help her unless he were given something in return. Could she give him so much power over her? Sure, she had already allowed him to stay at her flat when she would leave the hospital, but things could change. Although, with them having two children together, society would see them as a couple and she was sure Voldemort would take advantage of that. Perhaps force her to marry him, even. And she would be under the constant threat of him leaving her and taking her children with him. With just Althea, she could always try to contact the fairies for help. They knew what Voldemort was capable of and had said they wouldn’t let anything harm Althea. But the second child?  
  
Then, there was the final question. Did she _want_ to have a second child?  
  
The door opened slightly, and a Healer peered inside. When she saw that Hermione was awake, she stepped in. “I saw the light in the corridor. Do you need anything?”  
  
Hermione hesitated. “Do you know where my friends went? The ones that were here before?”  
  
The Healer stepped closer. “Sorry, no. But they probably left when you fell asleep. It’s five in the morning.”  
  
“Oh. Right. So you don’t know if they will be back?”  
  
The Healer shook her head. “No, my shift started at midnight. I haven’t seen anyone here. But it’s a rather slow period now, I could keep you company for a little while.”  
  
Hermione relaxed. “Yes, please.”  
  
The Healer came closer and sat down on the chair last occupied by Voldemort. The light fell over her face, and Hermione thought she looked rather familiar, but she wasn’t sure from where.  
  
“What’s your name?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Jenny Duke. And I know you are Hermione Granger. The whole hospital is gossiping about you being here. Not that your Healers have shared any information about your health,” the Healer quickly added when Hermione frowned.   
  
She did not want to be anyone’s gossip.   
  
“Just, having Harry Potter and Muggles here is very unusual. And the fact that everyone knows you were kidnapped and, according to the Daily Prophet, you have … Ah, that doesn’t matter. Everyone knows the Prophet is usually filled with garbage.”  
  
Hermione’s frown increased. “What has the Prophet been saying about me?”  
  
The Healer seemed to blush. “Just that you have had an affair with your teacher, and they speculated that this is something you have always done to ensure good grades. However, when the likes of Headmistress McGonagall, the Minister of Magic and Harry Potter testified to your virtue, no one actually seems to believe it anymore. The writer of the reportage posted an excuse in the evening paper.”  
  
“Let me guess, Rita Skeeter?” Hermione wondered dryly.  
  
Healer Duke rolled her eyes. “Who else? Anyway, I hope you don’t think that I’m snooping. It’s five o’clock. That’s usually the slowest time on this ward, and we have three Healers positioned here. Right now, everyone is asleep except the lady down the hall who seems to think we are her maids. My colleague is with her.”  
  
“No, that’s okay, I didn’t think you were snooping. I’m not tired anymore, but I don’t really want to be alone,” Hermione admitted.  
  
“I can be here until someone calls, so don’t worry. Are you in any pain now? I could fetch a potion if you’d like?”   
  
The Healer sounded quite young, but there was something with her face that made it hard to determine her age. Her long hair was completely black with no strays of grey, and her face was smooth but in the same unnatural way as some women’s faces after they had used charmed creams to conceal wrinkles. Anyway, she seemed friendly enough.  
  
“No, it’s not too bad. It just aches a little from lying down too much.”  
  
“Okay, well, tell me if you need anything. I’m here until seven, then I can go home to my cats and get some sleep.” She sighed longingly.  
  
Hermione smiled. “You like cats, too?”   
  
Her precious cat Crookshanks had died a year earlier. Hermione still missed him a lot and didn’t feel like getting a new one.  
  
“Oh, yes. I have several. My mother would rather I found a man instead, but I always say that a cat is better company. You can still cuddle with them, but they don’t leave piles of laundry or nag about what I do or don’t do.”  
  
“Yeah, and they don’t knock you up,” Hermione agreed dryly.  
  
The Healer’s smile shrank. “No. Not that either.”  
  
Hermione cursed to herself. Why had she said that? Now, there was an uncomfortable silence between them.  
  
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Issues.”  
  
“No, that’s okay. I have them, too,” the healer confessed mildly. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“I don’t really want to bother you,” Hermione said, uncomfortable.  
  
The healer snorted. “I get paid for being bothered by patients. However, this isn’t bothering. Now, if you wanted me to clean up after you had made a mess in the bathroom, that would be bothering.”  
  
Hermione smiled, but it soon faded away again. “It’s just … how do you know if you are making the right choice or not?”  
  
The Healer looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess you find out after you have made the choice. Unless you are very adept at Divination, of course.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “No. But after you have made the choice, you can’t always take it back. What do you do then?”  
  
“Some people call that the progress of growing up. It’s okay to make wrong choices now and again if you learn something from them. Wasn’t it some famous Muggle who said ‘It’s in the nature of every person to error, but only a fool preserves in error’?”  
  
“Yes, Cicero, if I remember correctly,” Hermione replied with a sigh. “But some errors are worse than others.”  
  
“True. Is it something in particular you have in mind?” she asked carefully.  
  
Hermione debated with herself on whether she should tell the Healer or not. Just like Muggle doctors, they did have a confidentiality duty. Perhaps it would be easier to talk it through with someone? Maybe someone fairly objective would be better than her friends or Voldemort?  
  
“I don’t know if I should do an abortion or not,” Hermione finally confessed.  
  
“I see. Yes, that is tough choice,” the Healer said slowly. “Do you want to tell me why you are considering an abortion?”  
  
Hermione felt a bit relieved. The Healer didn’t seem to be judging her, just asking.   
  
“Even though I have a daughter, I’ve never felt ready to have children. I still don’t. I love Althea more than anything, but she is very easy to take care of. But another one will be even more responsibility, and … maybe I’m selfish, but I want to live my own life. I want to study, and with Althea, I can manage to study part-time. If I have another child, I’ll probably not be able to study at all.”  
  
The Healer leaned forward. “Most parents have children for selfish reasons as well, Miss Granger. It can be everything from ‘because all my friends have it and I want to fit in’ to ‘I want to feel needed’. At least in this part of the world, few mothers are forced to have children, even though they can be encouraged by their family. Pure-bloods often disapprove of abortion because they want more of their own kind. However, that is selfish as well. They gain something from reproducing, namely spreading their beliefs and customs, or at least, making sure their bloodline survives.”  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. “Yes. But still, now that it’s in there … I have no problem using contraceptives to prevent getting pregnant because of selfish reasons. However, I guess the problem is that it is already in there. Life is growing inside me. Perhaps I’ll have a miscarriage in the next couple of weeks, and then, that will be that. But … if I make the decision to end it? Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying.” Hermione looked down sheepishly.  
  
“I think you are touching a very complex moral dilemma,” the Healer said and shifted closer so she was leaning her elbow against Hermione’s bedside table. “When does life begin, and is it murder or not to have an abortion.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “Yes. I guess so. Usually, I don’t see a problem with women having an abortion. It’s their bodies and their choice. But now, when it’s up to me … I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Yes, I can understand your dilemma. Do you sense it?”  
  
Hermione thought about it, her hand coming down to rest on her stomach. “No,” she replied. “I don’t feel any different. But it has only been a week. Or well, three weeks if you count from the last time I had my period.”  
  
The Healer smiled reassuringly. “Some mothers claim to feel it at once, others don’t. In that case, if you decide to have an abortion, would you feel like you missed something?”  
  
Hermione tried to imagine what it would be like. She knew what potions would stop the pregnancy and the side-effects that could come from it: nauseousness, dizziness and so on. But that didn’t matter. The question was how she would feel emotionally if she had an abortion. The first thought that hit her mind was relief. Because then it would be over, and she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. However, knowing herself, she would think about it. Imagine what it would be like if she had let the pregnancy run its course.  
  
“Do you believe in destiny?” Hermione asked after a while.  
  
“Can’t say I do,” the Healer answered and leaned back. For a moment Hermione thought she saw disappointment in her eyes, but it was gone after less than a second. “Do you?”  
  
“No, not really.” Hermione sighed. “It would be easier if I did, I think. Then I would just have to leave it to the powers that be or something like that..”  
  
“Right. But since you don’t …” The healer gave her a sad smile. “Look, I won’t tell you want to do. All I can do is advise you to think it through and, if you do decide to have an abortion, we can have the potion here in ten minutes, and the next day you’ll be fine. An abortion doesn’t mean you can’t have children later in life when you meet the right person.”  
  
It took Hermione a moment to realise what she had said. “How do you know that I haven’t met the right person already?”  
  
The Healer blinked. “Oh, sorry. It sounded like you thought you would have to take care of the children yourself. That just made me think their father wasn’t of the best sort.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think it’s the same father?”  
  
“Sorry, I guess I’m just jumping to conclusions here.” She laughed nervously.  
  
Perhaps she had spent too much time together with Voldemort, but Hermione was dead certain the Healer was lying to her. She sat up straight in the bed.   
  
“You are lying.”  
  
The Healer rose. “I’m just trying to be helpful and make you understand that an abortion isn’t wrong. In fact, I think you should do it. Children can become very dangerous under bad influences.”  
  
“What do you know about that?”   
  
Before Hermione had time to finish vocalising the rest of her thoughts, the Healer had disappeared with a “pop”. Hermione felt like someone had poured ice over her back. St. Mungo’s security was almost as tight as Hogwarts. Apart from the waiting room, you couldn’t Apparate in or out. Or, at least, a human couldn’t.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Nerys for betaing.

**Chapter 20**  
  
Hermione was released the morning after. Although she was still weak, her wounds were healing quickly and there was no reason for her to be under immediate medical attention. Apparently wizards didn’t think a mental trauma was as important to heal as physical wounds. Not that Hermione minded. She wanted to come home to her daughter and start to investigate who, or what, had been encouraging her to have an abortion.  
  
Her parents were there to take her home, and she spent most of the day with them. They were all sitting together around the coffee table, having evening tea. Althea was lying on the couch with her head on Hermione’s lap. The young girl hadn’t wanted to leave her mother to go to bed but had been too tired to stay awake. Hermione was glad; she felt much more comfortable with her daughter next to her.  
  
Malcolm and Helen were sitting in the armchairs, and for the past five minutes, none of them had said anything. Since Hermione had a feeling of what was to come, she didn’t say anything either.  
  
“So … does he sleep with all your classmates or just you?” Helen asked, finally looking up from her cooling tea.  
  
“Mum!” Hermione exclaimed in a low voice. Her mother still hadn’t learned to beat around the bush in the past six months. “Of course he doesn’t sleep with any other students.”  
  
“We are just worried about you, Hermione,” her more diplomatic father said. “You didn’t have a boyfriend or even a date during your time in Australia. Then you come back here and just happen to become an item with Althea’s father. Are you sure there is no magic involved? Love potions or a spell?”  
  
Hermione massaged her temples. She didn’t have the energy for this, but at the same time, she knew this conversation was doomed to happen. Better to get it over with. “If I was under a love potion, I wouldn’t be able to see his flaws, and trust me, I do.”  
  
“But he is your teacher. What will you do if they expel you from Oxford?” her mother asked, sounding rather worried.  
  
“I highly doubt I’ll get expelled,” Hermione commented. Voldemort had promised she got to stay if she did what he wanted. She had the feeling that if she refused him, not staying in school would be the least of her problems. “The worst thing that will happen is that they can take away my scholarship, but Marcus has already said he will support me if it comes to that.”  
  
Malcolm frowned. “Are you sure you want to be dependent on him, Hermione?”  
  
The honest answer was no, but she would not tell her parents that. It wasn’t only to protect them from Voldemort, but also to give them some peace of mind. Since she couldn’t tell the whole truth, it would be easier for everyone if she pretended that everything was alright.  
  
“He is Althea’s father and he wants to do right by us. Besides, if it won’t work out between us, I can always find a job. But I do want it to work out between us because if it doesn’t, he will most likely want to have Althea just as much as I do, and then, we’ll have to take it to court and … well, it’s easier this way. If I do stay with him, I’ll be able to finish my studies and become a Transfiguration Professor as well. Since the salary is good, I’ll be able to pay him back quickly.”  
  
It was mostly true. However, she highly doubted Voldemort would care about getting money back. If she lived with him, he would have power over her, and she knew that was what he really wanted.  
  
“Do you think you’ll marry him?” Helen asked, sipping the last of her tea from the cup.  
  
Hermione blinked. A part of her wanted to laugh hysterically. She had always associated marriage with being in love. She wasn’t in love with Voldemort. She just … didn’t really think she would ever be without him. He had promised as much back at the hospital.  
  
“We haven’t discussed it,” she admitted. “Usually, wizards are engaged for at least a year before getting married. The hand-fasting ritual is not something to undertake on a whim. Not that any ritual-holder would agree to marry a couple just like that.”  
  
“What do you even know about him, Hermione?” her father asked, looking concerned.  
  
Besides the fact that he was a mass-murdering megalomaniac who was hiding from justice by pretending to be someone else? “Enough.”  
  
Her parents seemed to doubt her. Hermione sighed and looked down on Althea. What could she tell her parents that would make them think she wanted to stay with “Marcus”? _She_ wasn’t even sure she wanted to stay with him. But she would. Because Voldemort wouldn’t let her go.  
  
Why was there a small part of her that was relieved that Voldemort would stay with her? Just a week ago, she had tried to kill him. But then, everything had changed. She had murdered someone.  
  
Harry and the other Aurors had seemed convinced that she only did it to save her own life, but that wasn’t perfectly true. She could just as easily have sent away a message to the Aurors once Malfoy was unconscious and she had got his wand. Instead, she had murdered Malfoy. And she didn’t regret it.  
  
That was the part no one would understand. Even though most of the people she knew had killed someone, they had all regretted it afterwards, to some extent. She had sat many nights, listening to her friends’ remorse. How they could have acted differently: captured instead of killed.  
  
At least they could blame it all on the battle, and that they had been fighting for their own lives. Hermione had actually had the choice of capturing without endangering her own life. Yet, she had killed him. And she was glad of it.  
  
No one would understand. Except Voldemort, that was. Even though they hadn’t talked about it yet, Hermione was certain Voldemort wouldn’t think less of her because she had murdered Malfoy in cold blood. He would understand. She had seen it in his eyes the night before.  
  
“I know that you don’t agree with any of this, but I’m not some lovesick girl,” Hermione finally said. “Marcus is the only man who has ever made me feel special and understands me. And do you really think he would even consider risking his career for a student if he didn’t feel the same way?”  
  
“But there is something with all this that doesn’t make sense,” Helen objected, sounding very frustrated. “This has all happened so quickly and … there is something you aren’t telling us!”  
  
Hermione felt equally frustrated. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Mum. Why can’t you just accept the fact that there may be a man who wants to spend the rest of his life with me, even if there are some hindrances on the way?”  
  
“I can accept that. What I can’t accept is the fact that you seem to be settling for him. Not once have you said any word about actually loving him!” Helen exclaimed in a high voice.  
  
Hermione blinked, stunned. Althea awakened next to her. “Mummy, wha’s happing?”  
  
“Everything is alright, love, go back to sleep,” Hermione said, stroking Althea’s hair. She didn’t look at her mother. She didn’t know what to say. Even though she would stay with Voldemort, she didn’t love him.  
  
“Can’t you see that we are worried about you?” Helen said after a minute of tense silence, making Hermione look up at them again. “This is all happening so fast.”  
  
Malcolm looked very uncomfortable while her mother kept staring at her, looking both hopeful for any kind of explanation and worried. Really worried. Hermione hated making them feel that way. She had protected them from so much of the horrors in the wizarding world. What was one more lie?  
  
“Of course I love him,” Hermione finally said, trying to look like anything else would be ridiculous.  
  
Her parents seemed to believe her, but she could see that they were still tense about it. Should she try to proclaim her love more? Point out his good qualities?  
  
She was just about to open her mouth when someone knocked on the door.  
  
“Speak of the devil,” Hermione muttered and looked at her father. “Dad, can you open the door for me? It’s probably Marcus. He promised he would come.”  
  
Hermione was surprised Voldemort hadn’t come by the minute she came home. He had said that he would stay with her when she came home from the hospital.  
  
Malcolm rose, and a moment later, Hermione heard Voldemort’s voice. “Good evening, Mr Granger. Hermione is here, I trust?”  
  
“She is,” was Malcolm’s reply.  
  
The next second, Voldemort stepped into the room and spotted Helen. “You must be Hermione’s mother.” He shook hands with Helen before sitting down next to Hermione, giving her a quick kiss.  
  
An overly polite conversation followed between Voldemort and Hermione’s parents. Hermione tried to look like she was comfortable with Voldemort and wanted to be with him, but there was still too much unresolved between them. Hopefully, her parents would only think her wariness was because she was tired of arguing. After around twenty minutes, Hermione decided to use her tiredness as an excuse to be alone with Voldemort.  
  
“I think I should go to sleep,” Hermione said. “Marcus, will you help me apply the healing cream before bed?”  
  
“Of course, dear,” Voldemort said, taking her hand and squeezing it.  
  
“Right, should we sleep out here in the living room, then?” Malcom asked, looking around. “You can make the couch into a bed with magic, right?”  
  
“I have another suggestion,” Voldemort chipped in and looked at Hermione. “If you want to stay with me, your parents can sleep in your bed.”  
  
Despite the fact that he made it sound like the choice was hers, Hermione knew it wasn’t. “That sounds good. We just have to be careful not to wake Althea when we leave.”  
  
She looked down at the child who had fallen asleep again. Althea looked so peaceful, and Hermione really didn’t want to leave her. However, she knew that if she went with Voldemort now, it would be better if Althea weren’t there. Hermione and Voldemort tended to become rather loud when they were together, both in the good and the bad things.  
  
Ten minutes later, Hermione and Voldemort walked over to Voldemort’s flat. Once inside, everything that had happened between them a week ago came crashing back to her. How did you move on in any relationship after one part had tried to kill the other? Then, there were the reasons why Hermione had tried to kill him. She hadn’t forgotten about Peter and the Muggles. It didn’t make her mad with anger anymore, but she was still sickened by it.   
  
“So.”  
  
“So, indeed,” he mused, sitting down on the couch.  
  
She sighed. Perhaps it was best to have only one serious argument a day. Voldemort would still be a mass murderer in the morning. They could have their conversation then.   
  
“Where were you today? I though you would be at my door the moment I got back.”  
  
“I had a lot of things to take care off,” he answered, and the smug look on his face told her it had all gone according to plan.  
  
“Like what?” she asked, curious.  
  
“Making sure I don’t get fired, finding Draco and getting an official apology from the Aurors for arresting me. You’ll read it in the Daily Prophet tomorrow as well as an interview with me about our relationship and secret love-child.”  
  
“Hold on,” Hermione said, frowning. “Finding Draco? Aren’t the Aurors supposed to do that?”  
  
Voldemort rose from the couch and came over to where she was standing. “Did you really think I would let him get away with kidnapping you?”  
  
Hermione felt like a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Draco coming after her because of what she did to his father. “Will you hand him over to the Aurors?”  
  
He took her hands in his. “I serve my own justice, Hermione. Will you have a problem with that?”  
  
She swallowed. The truth was that when it came to Draco, she really didn’t care. Voldemort could do whatever he wanted with him. Draco Malfoy was nothing but a coward, a bully and a kidnapper. What little sympathy she might have had for him disappeared when Draco had taken her to Lucius. However, she didn’t want Voldemort to hurt anyone else. But she was much too tired to have that conversation now. Later, when she had regained some of her strength, she would bring it up.  
  
“Can we talk about this later?” she asked. “I didn’t lie to my parents. I _am_ tired.”  
  
He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Well, it’s not like we have anything pressing to do. Let me get the healing cream. Why don’t you strip and lie down on the bed?”  
  
He led her to the bedroom before leaving for the bathroom. Why was she all of a sudden feeling so nervous? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before. And he had said they were even after she’d tried to kill him, so she really had nothing to worry about. Yet … something had changed between them.  
  
When he returned, she was still standing, staring at the bed. He walked up to her and started to unbutton her shirt. When she tried to brush his hands away, he just arched his eyebrow and gave her a “stop being silly” look. She let her arms sink to her sides and stood stiffly as he removed her shirt and bra.  
  
“If you want to sleep afterwards, I suggest you remove your trousers and socks as well,” he remarked conversationally while letting his eyes wander over her naked chest.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she slowly undressed, leaving her knickers on. Mostly to let him know she wasn’t looking for sex at all. He just looked at her plain, white underwear for a moment; then, he took her shoulder and steered her down on her stomach in the bed.  
  
Hermione had to bite her lip to stop a moan of pleasure when he let his hands wander over her back. He didn’t put any pressure on it; he just moved his hands so close to her that she was able to feel it. Unwillingly, her knickers started to feel wet.  
  
“My poor kitten,” he whispered and brushed her hair over her shoulder, kissing the part of her neck that had become exposed.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, and her mouth fell open. Oh Merlin, how she had missed this. It was so easy to forget who he really was when he acted like this. Especially when she didn’t want to remember who he really was. She just wanted, no, needed the comfort her Soul Mate provided. Everything else was unimportant at the moment.  
  
She tensed when something cold touched her back. It was the ointment. As he spread it out over her back, she relaxed again. Even though it stung, the pleasure his hands brought her outweighed the pain. She could feel another, deeper kind of tension starting to disappear as well. Almost unknowingly, she began to cry softly into the pillow. Damn, she was an emotional wreck.  
  
When Voldemort had finished applying the cream, she heard him mumble a cleaning spell, probably over his hand. She made a motion to sit up, but he gently pressed her down.  
  
“You need this,” he whispered into her ear and nibbled the earlobe, giving it a bite before letting go.  
  
Hermione relaxed again as he took her left arm and began massaging it. He gave equal attention to every one of her fingers before changing to her right arm. By the time he was done and started to massage her feet, Hermione was so relaxed she was almost asleep. However, as he begun to move up her leg, she could feel a whole new tension awaken inside her body. She was breathing hard when his fingers came up to her arse. He massaged it with just the right amount of pressure, his fingers moving closer and closer to her sex. Alas, he never came close enough to touch her now dripping centre. After a while, he hooked his fingers at the waistline and pulled her knickers down.  
  
“Sit up,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.  
  
She did, kicking her knickers on the floor in the process. Once sitting, he pulled her up into his lap.   
  
“When did you undress?” she asked when she saw his bare body.  
  
“Earlier,” he just said and kissed her neck, carefully wrapping his arms around her.  
  
Hermione moved her hand to his face and stroked her way up to his hair. She pulled him by the hair to kiss her, which he thoroughly did. In the meantime, his hands positioned her so her groin was right above his. More tears escaped her eyes when he pushed inside her, not of sadness but by the rightness she felt of having him inside her again. He decided the pace with his hands on her hips, making her go much slower than she wanted to. She let go of his mouth and leaned her head against his shoulder. When his hands left her hips in favour of her breasts, she increased the speed. She brought her right hand down to where they were joined and scratched him lightly at the underside of his cock before moving up to her stimulate her clit.  
  
He chuckled against her head and kissed her ear, speeding up even more. Magic was dancing over their bodies; she could almost hear it hum. When she came, it trembled. When he came a moment later, the magic exploded around them. She could feel Voldemort taking it but also pressing some of it inside of her, filling her with power.  
  
They fell on their sides, breathing heavily.  
  
“Should we really have done that?” she asked after coming down from her high.  
  
He panted hard against her head. “Yes. We shouldn’t have stopped.”  
  
“You didn’t,” she huffed but felt too relaxed to be angry.  
  
He sighed. “No, I didn’t want to.”  
  
A tense silence fell over them. The magic he had given her had made her stronger, and she felt like it was time to have that talk with him. She wasn’t angry anymore, but there were still a lot of things they had to sort through if this were to work between them. She also wanted to know what “this” really was.  
  
“I don’t want to become intimate with another man,” she stated carefully. “However, I do have male friends which I hug and want to be alone with. You won’t kill them because of that.”  
  
When Voldemort didn’t answer, she tilted her head upwards to look at him. “Right?”  
  
His hand came to her face, stroking her cheek. “How many male friends are we talking about?”  
  
“Right now, it’s only Harry and the Weasleys. Perhaps a few others from Hogwarts, if I run into them. But we are _just_ friends. They aren’t different from Ginny, Luna or Victoria, and you don’t mind me hugging them, do you?”  
  
“No, I don’t. And I know you aren’t interested in Potter or any of the Weasley boys. But you clearly make very bad decisions when you are drunk.” His thumb stroked her lower lip.  
  
“I don’t plan to get that drunk again,” she argued. “So, do you promise not to kill any one of my friends, just because I hug them?”  
  
He sighed. “If you promise not to drink yourself stupid, then fine. However, if I find out that you have gone behind my back, I will make you watch what happens to them.”  
  
“And since that will never happen, we won’t have a problem,” she growled.   
  
His threat annoyed her, but she knew she wouldn’t start to flirt with another man, so there really wasn’t any problem. As to not get drunk, she didn’t feel like it was hard to promise never to do that again. Especially considering her current condition.  
  
“What do you think about the fact that I’m pregnant again?” she asked instead.  
  
“I haven’t decided yet,” he answered, his face unreadable. “Do you want to keep it?”  
  
“I don’t know. But I think someone or something doesn’t want me to,” she said, deciding to tell him about her visitor in the hospital.  
  
“What do you mean?” His voice didn’t betray any of his emotions.  
  
“I woke up early this morning, around five. A Healer wondered if she could help me with anything, but I just wanted some company. We talked for a while and … she was very understanding. Told me that I shouldn’t feel ashamed if I wanted an abortion, that I could have children again later in life when I met the right person. Then I asked what made her think I hadn’t met the right person already and … I think she knew who you are. She said that children could become very dangerous under the wrong influence. Then, she disappeared.”  
  
“Disappeared?” Now he sounded a bit concerned.  
  
“Yes. It looked and sounded like Apparition, but you can’t do that inside St. Mungo’s. And she didn’t look completely right.”  
  
“Completely right?”  
  
“I can’t describe it. It was rather dark, but there was something strange about her. I couldn’t tell if she were young or old.”  
  
He was silent for a while. “Whom do you think it was?”  
  
“I … I don’t know. It feels like I should know. Like I’ve met her sometime before, but I just … I can’t remember.”  
  
Voldemort frowned and didn’t say anything for a moment, then he looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m going to use Legilimency on you to see if I can find something. It shouldn’t be too hard to get you to remember if you already feel like you know something.”  
  
Her eyes widened. “You are going to use Legilimency? Just like that?”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, it won’t take long and I won’t wander around looking at other memories. As long as you don’t think about them, that is. It’s very hard to shut them out if you think about them. Try to focus on the memory of your conversation with this being.”  
  
Hermione could see that it was useless to argue, and it did irritate her that she couldn’t remember where she had seen the woman, or being, before. Preparing herself, she nodded.  
  
Voldemort floated into her mind in a very peaceful way. Harry had always said it was painful, but this was more like a soft breeze, stroking her. Perhaps it was because of their bond?  
  
“Focus, Hermione,” Voldemort muttered.  
  
Hermione cursed and immediately started to think only about the other night and her visitor. She could feel Voldemort watching it; then, he began to pull on other memories. It went too fast for Hermione to really keep up with it, and after what felt like just seconds, he withdrew.  
  
When he broke their eye contact, Hermione felt a sudden emptiness. She reached out and grabbed his hand. It made her feel better again.  
  
“Did you see anything?” she wanted to know.  
  
“No,” he said, frowning. “There was something … in the way. Like an Occlumency wall, but different.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “How could that have happened? I don’t know any Occlumency.”  
  
“I know. I think something else has been inside your mind, rearranging your memory.”  
  
That thought bothered her, and she could see that Voldemort wasn’t too happy about it either. How could someone have gone into her mind? She didn’t remember anything like it, but she did know that it was possible; she had read about it. However, it was very tricky magic, and few were able to do it. That was, if it were a human being behind this. The person she had met at St. Mungo’s had been able to Disapparate despite the wards. Why if it were she, or it, who had messed with her mind? What sort of magical being could do that, and to what end?  
  
“But what will we do about it? Can’t you break it?” she wanted to know. She felt violated at the thought of someone else being inside her mind, without her permission.  
  
“I have never encountered magic such as this before,” Voldemort admitted, clearly frustrated. “With time, then maybe. I’ll need to experiment, but I can’t do that to you. I don’t want to cause you brain damage.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t too keen on getting brain damage either. “What should we do then?”  
  
“For now, let us just go to sleep,” Voldemort said and turned so he was lying on his back. “We can research this tomorrow. You need to regain your strength.”  
  
His sudden casualness made Hermione suspicious of something else, though. “Will you leave me when I’ve fallen asleep to go and kill someone?”  
  
He blinked in surprise and turned his head to look at her. When he saw her bitter expression, he sighed and turned his head forward again. “You do realise that even if I did, you would have no way of stopping me?”  
  
“I know, but that isn’t the point,” she answered and sat up in bed, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know how I will be able to deal with having a murdering … er …  boyfriend, for the lack of a better word. That would make our whole relationship very destructive. I don’t want that. Especially not in front of Althea. Do you?”  
  
He was staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Voldemort?”  
  
His lips curled upwards. “You are one of those people who think everyone should ‘be themselves’, right?”  
  
Hermione did not like where this was going. “I guess.”  
  
“I am a killer, Hermione. I’ve always been and I always will be. I can’t stop being who I am even if I wanted to.”  
  
She moved closer to him and looked down at him with narrowed eyes. She didn’t want to believe that he would always be a killer. Or well, always be a killer of innocent people. Malfoy was one thing, but she could not accept him killing innocent people. There had to be some other way for him to be himself.   
  
“Are you sure? Is the killing only about, well, killing, or about something else?”  
  
He seemed rather amused. “Are you going to give me some insightful advice now that will make me turn into a good, little boy who will cry over his evil deeds?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “No. However, when I was kidnapped and lo-locked inside a cell …” She took a deep breath to push away the feeling of angst. “I got a lot of time to think. Isn’t it about power?”  
  
“Everything is about power, kitten.”  
  
“Then, don’t you kill to get the feeling of power? And if you do, couldn’t you satisfy that feeling any other way?”  
  
He was now watching her with interest. “You have given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then, have you come up with any suggestion on how I can … satisfy that feeling?”  
  
“Having sex with me and getting more powerful?” She knew he liked the magic that came from them having sex. It made him more powerful. Perhaps it would be enough?  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted us to share that magic.”  
  
She scowled. “If it stops you from killing, I can give it up.”  
  
He sat up, leaning on his elbows. “And what if I said that the sex we have isn’t enough to satisfy my need for power?”  
  
“Then we can have it more often,” she replied, annoyed.  
  
“Really?” He smirked, and she could see his cock rising to attention.  
  
She leaned closer to him. “But you have to promise not to kill anymore Muggles.”  
  
“Suck me hard enough for another fuck and I’ll think about it.”  
  
Hermione was too tired for it. However, if she didn’t, he could leave when she had fallen asleep and kill someone to get his power kick. She didn’t want that and she felt like she had to try. A lot of people had given up a lot more to prevent disasters. It wasn’t like she minded the sex. She just had to spread her legs and think of England.

 

xxx

  
Long after they finished their second fuck and Hermione drifted away to a much needed sleep, Voldemort lay awake, staring at her. While he did like the way things had turned out between them, he wondered how long it would last. It was clear that the kidnapping had traumatised her, and all she really wanted now was comfort and safety. What would happen when she began to trust herself again? Would she demand him to change in even more ways? True, he could always go behind her back and do whatever he liked anyway, but not until he found a way to block her from entering his mind again. He was sure that was a Soul Mate thing. No one else had ever been able to do it. It didn’t feel like Legilimency, and she seemed to require touch rather than eye contact when she did it.  
  
Now when he thought about it, hadn’t he read something about that? It had been in a footnote, but in what book?  
  
He rolled out of bed and walked into the living room naked. He lit the lights with his wand and looked at the books. Which one had it been? He let his eyes wander over their backs, recollecting what they were about by just reading the title. He hesitated at one in the third shelf before pulling it out. No. This wasn’t it. He replaced it and continued. It hadn’t been in a book about Legilimency, but about … yes, potions. He pulled out the book he was fairly certain contained the footnote and skimmed through it. Yes, there it was. It was about a potion that protected the mind, like Occlumency did, but only for a short amount of time. The footnote said that it didn’t help against invasions of the mind that came from touch and made a reference to a German author Voldemort had never heard about. He would have to look it up tomorrow, then.  
  
As he was replacing the book, he heard a terrified cry coming from his bedroom. Frowning, he entered the room and found Hermione curled up into a ball in the middle of the bed, crying. It made him a bit puzzled to see her express such weakness and loss of control. Who wanted to experience that? Ah, well, the usual touching would probably make her stop crying.  
  
He sat down on the bed and placed his hand on her arm. She moved closer towards him, pushing her head against his leg and grabbing his arm like it was some sort of lifeline.  
  
“There, there, Hermione,” he mumbled and patted her head.  
  
She just continued to cry. He reached the conclusion that this was probably the panic she had repressed while being captured coming to the surface. She had been crying before as well for no apparent reason. Hopefully, she would feel better in the morning.  
  
He lay down and allowed her to cling to him for a moment, until he started to find it annoying. Then, he turned her so he was holding her instead, which made breathing a lot easier. Over an hour later, she finally stopped crying, and he could follow her into sleep.  
  
When he woke up, it was because she started to move again. He didn’t open his eyes at once. It would be nice to get to sleep some more. Sleeping was hard to do in a holding cell. If she went to the bathroom, he could, maybe, sleep a couple of more minutes.  
  
“You were gone tonight.”  
  
No more sleep then. He opened his eyes. “I was just in the living room.”  
  
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” She was staring down at him.  
  
He scowled. “I couldn’t sleep. I was reading. But if you didn’t notice, I came in the moment I heard you cry. How could I have done that if I had been out murdering someone? Which I would never do in the nude, by the way.”  
  
She seemed to believe him but was still looking suspicious. “You could have put up a ward that would notify you if I woke up.”  
  
He sighed. “I was reading. If I had been murdering someone, I would have fucked you when I got— ouch!”  
  
She had twisted his nipple. He grabbed her arm and wrestled her so she was lying underneath him. She wriggled, trying to get loose, which a special part of his body very much enjoyed. He smirked and pressed his groin closer against her. She growled at him.  
  
“You did promise to have sex with me whenever I wanted if I didn’t kill anyone,” he reminded her teasingly. “And I haven’t even left the flat tonight. You can tell that I’m not lying, right?”  
  
She stopped wriggling and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you really horny?”  
  
“Yes, you tend to bring that side out in me for some reason,” he purred. “Alas, we don’t have much time now. But, I can get off in five minutes, can you?”  
  
As it turned out, she could. It was a good thing, too, because only moments after their climax, someone knocked on the door. Voldemort cleaned them both with a quick spell and dressed with another, leaving his Soul Mate to dress as he went to answer the door. He had a fair suspicion about who it was.  
  
“Mrs Granger,” he greeted her in a chipper tone. “Please, come in. Hermione is just getting up.”  
  
Hermione’s mother stepped inside the living room while she glanced at the clock on her wrist. “Sleeping in, I hope?”  
  
“Not at all,” Voldemort just replied, amused.  
  
Helen Granger wasn’t a woman to blush; instead, she sent him a strict look. She didn’t like him, and even though he could charm her, it would take too much time and work. It was rather hard to get the mother of the girl you knocked up, left and then started to fuck again while being her teacher to like you. Since Mrs Granger was living on the other side of the world, it just wasn’t worth it.  
  
“Where is Althea?” he asked instead.  
  
“Malcolm is with her. We are just about to eat breakfast, and I was wondering if Hermione would like some as well.”  
  
Not him then. That didn’t bother him at all. “Breakfast sounds lovely. Let me see what is taking her so long.”  
  
Before Helen had time to say anything, he walked into the bedroom and found it empty. He heard the toilet flush and water running in the sink. He waited for almost a minute before he knocked on the door to ask what she was doing. When no answer came, he opened the door and found her staring at her own reflection in the mirror.  
  
“What is it?” he asked, a bit annoyed, mostly because he was hungry.  
  
“I just … haven’t seen myself in the mirror for a week,” she mumbled.  
  
He went up to her and gently turned her around so she was facing him. “And?”  
  
“I look … horrible,” she said, tears rising in her eyes. “How can you stand to look at me?”  
  
He took in her lifeless hair, hollow cheeks and haunted eyes. On a first glance, she did look like she had been through hell and back again. However, if you looked beyond that, there was something more. The old Hermione was still in there, strong and passionate. There was also a new darkness inside her. One he couldn’t wait to feed and see grow.  
  
“You’ll always be my little, beautiful, Gryffindor kitten, Hermione. It will take more than a beating and a week of imprisonment to take that away. In a few weeks, you’ll be as good as new.” He kissed the top of her head. “Come, your mother is waiting.”  
  
As they went to breakfast, Voldemort made sure to be close to Hermione. She was weak and vulnerable right now. He would use this time to tie her so hard to him that she wouldn’t be able to live without him. Because, technically, she couldn’t. He would rather kill her than see her live a life that he had no influence over.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my lovely beta Nerys!

**Chapter 21**  
  
Hermione knew she was emotionally unbalanced the first week after her escape, but she couldn’t help it. The nightmares made it hard for her to sleep, and even though her wounds were healing nicely, she kept feeling the ache. In her rational mind, she knew it was probably psychosomatic, but that didn’t do anything to ease the pain. The only thing that seemed to help was being with Voldemort and experiencing the pleasure of his touch. She spent most of her time with him, but he was not always available.  
  
Since the holiday was about to begin, Hermione didn’t have to worry about school, but Voldemort still had one class left to take care of. He left early on Tuesday morning, and Hermione decided to spend the morning in her own flat where her parents were staying. Even though they had been staying there for a week, Hermione hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with them about her pregnancy. Something else always came in the way. If it weren’t Althea who wanted attention, it was Voldemort.  
  
Nonetheless, at breakfast on Tuesday morning, Hermione found herself alone with her parents. Althea was entertaining herself with her drawing chalk and would thus not disturb them for half an hour or so.  
  
“There is something I need to tell you,” Hermione said when they were finishing their breakfast. “I’m pregnant.”  
  
Her father, who had been eating porridge, dropped his spoon into the bowl with a splash. Her mother choked on her coffee and began coughing. Hermione winced. That was not exactly the reaction she had hoped for.  
  
“Are you sure?” Helen asked when she finally managed to breathe again.  
  
Hermione nodded, not able to look her parents in their eyes. What did they think of her? She had been called the brightest witch of her generation, and yet, she had managed to get knocked up twice, even though she knew perfectly well how to do a contraceptive spell and had a contraceptive potion standing in her bathroom closet.  
  
“I’m not sure what to do with it yet,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.  
  
“Is it Marcus’s?” Malcolm wanted to know.  
  
Hermione scowled, irritation running through her. “Of course it is.”  
  
“When did it happen?” Helen wondered. Since she didn’t sound like she was disappointed, Hermione glanced up at her. Helen’s face was neutral, with only a hint of worry in her eyes.  
  
“Before … over two weeks ago.” Hermione swallowed back the tears. Her father didn’t quite manage to school his expression, and she could see that he was troubled by the news.  
  
“Does Marcus know?” Helen asked.  
  
Hermione nodded. “But we haven’t decided what to do with it yet. It was quite unexpected.”  
  
“But how did it happen?” Malcolm asked. Then, he became very red. “I don’t mean _how_ … er, I just meant, that is, wizards do have protection, right? Weren’t you using that?”  
  
Hermione felt herself turn red as well. “There are both potions and spells. However, the spell only works if the caster doesn’t want to have children. Magic only works if you want it to happen. If someone secretly wants a child, then the contraceptive spell wouldn’t offer any protection.”  
  
Speaking about magical theory was something she liked very much. It made Hermione feel a little more comfortable, and that gave her the courage to continue.  
  
“I’ve been on a potion, though, which always works. That is, if you remember to take it every month.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Marcus was away on a conference for two weeks, and I was supposed to take the potion during that time, but it just slipped my mind when I didn’t … er, have any usage for it. And then he came back in the middle of the night and decided to surprise me, and well …” Hermione trailed off, shrugging.   
  
It was true; it just wasn’t the whole truth. But her parents didn’t need to know that she had been drunk again.  
  
Neither of her parents said anything. Malcolm’s face was still very red, and he seemed to find his porridge very interesting because he kept staring at it. Helen looked thoughtful, and then, she reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand.  
  
“I hope you know that we will stand by you no matter what decision you make,” she said.  
  
Hermione felt some tears of relief escape her eyes, and she squeezed her mother’s hand, thankful.  
  
“Yes, of course,” her father agreed and took her other hand. “Whatever you need, just tell us.”  
  
Hermione smiled at him through the tears. Merlin, she loved her parents.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort’s class finished five minutes to twelve. Anyone who had questions was welcome to come up, but he doubted anyone would dare. Since it had become common knowledge that he had been involved with a student, a couple of other students had tried their luck by exchanging services against better grades. Voldemort wasn’t against bribery, but since he wasn’t interested in anyone but Hermione, he declined. Or, well, not only did he do that. Just to make sure no more rumours would be spreading about him, he made his standpoint clear at the very beginning of class.  
  
“As Miss Stevens and Mr Tsu are already aware of, I’m not open for a blowjob in exchange for higher grades.”   
  
Needless to say, the class had been rather uncomfortable after that. Mr Tsu had fled the room and Miss Stevens had sunk down in the chair, face red of mortification. It had been fun to watch.  
  
Once everyone had left the classroom, Professor Cox-Trotter entered and closed the door behind her before he had even gathered his things.  
  
“Professor Foster,” Cox-Trotter greeted him, her face serious.  
  
“Professor Cox-Trotter,” Voldemort replied, equally serious.  
  
“I heard about your announcement in class today.”  
  
She sounded strict, but he could see in her eyes that she approved. “Yes, I thought it was best I made it perfectly clear where I stand on bribery.”  
  
“It is. However, questions will continue to rise as long as you are with Miss Granger,” Cox-Trotter remarked.  
  
Voldemort jumped down from the stage. “And as I said at my discipline hearing, I have every intention to provide for and raise my own child and thus, I will not end my relationship with Miss Granger.”  
  
“Yes, and admirable as that is, the council continues to see it as a problem that you are her teacher.”  
  
“But since I’m one of the best Transfiguration Masters there is …” Voldemort mused. He was well aware of his status, which had only increased when he had been to the Cook Islands.  
  
“Yes, there is that. Then, there is also the fact that Miss Granger has every potential to be an even better Master with the right training. Not to mention the fact that she is much more humble,” Cox-Trotter said dryly. “However, not everyone in the council believes this. Some of them have even contacted her old university in Australia as well as Hogwarts to see if there have been any … sidesteps there as well.”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that she is a Muggle-born, I hope?”  
  
Cox-Trotter sighed. “You know I don’t speak ill of my colleagues, Marcus. But that is not the reason why I came here, though. I actually want to know how Miss Granger is doing.”  
  
“She was tortured and locked inside a small cell by a Death Eater whom she had to kill to get away from. How do you think she is doing?” Voldemort asked dryly.  
  
“I imagine she is feeling quite badly. But would she be up for a talk with me? I want to be able to put a suggestion of actions before the council that doesn’t result in ‘throwing her out on the street’.”  
  
“You would let her continue her education?” Voldemort asked, not surprised. Cox-Trotter was in some ways the complete opposite of him. Always on the side of the weakest and fighting for their rights.  
  
“Of course. Although, I think we will have to come up with something where you aren’t the one grading her. But I want to talk to Miss Granger about it.”  
  
“I’ll ask here when I get home,” Voldemort promised, thoughtful.  
  
“You live together, then?”  
  
“No, but I like to spend time with Althea, and usually, Miss Granger is there as well.”  
  
“I see. Give her my best.” With a nod, Cox-Trotter left the classroom.  
  
Voldemort smirked. Oh, he would make sure Hermione got to stay in school. But first things first. He Apparated away. Not home, but to a hidden basement in the countryside of Scandinavia. The basement was made of concrete and had been a refuge during the Second World War. It had not been a very good refuge though, since the opening had been bombed, and there was no way in or out except with magic.  
  
A fire was burning in the middle of the room and hanging over it was a naked, young man.  
  
“How are you doing, Draco?” Voldemort asked, flicking the ropes so the boy turned to face him.  
  
The boy only sobbed. Voldemort had found and brought him here the night after Hermione had told him what had happened to her. Now Draco was hanging here, waiting for Voldemort to grow tired of him. Since he had promised Hermione not to kill any more Muggles, he had really made sure to get the most out of this toy. Alas, this toy was so close to broken that Voldemort decided to just kill him off after today’s session.  
  
“What should I do with you today?” He pulled out a chair from thin air and sat down, looking at the blond boy’s bloody face. “Oh, right. In the loving memory of your aunt Bella, why not bring out some of her knives?”  
  
Malfoys had always been good screamers, and Voldemort felt like it was a poetic way to finish off the last of the Malfoy line by letting all his precious blood drain from him.  
  
Voldemort was feeling quite happy when he Apparated back to England from the basement. He stopped at the mirror hanging in the foyer of his house to make sure he looked presentable before he walked up the stairs to their flats. He checked his own flat first and left his teaching robe there before walking to Hermione’s.  
  
Her mother opened the door. “Yes?”  
  
He sighed. “Can I come in?”  
  
It was perfectly clear that Mrs Granger did not want to let him in, but Hermione showed up in the hallway. “Hi, Marcus.”  
  
Voldemort made his way past the sour woman at the door and greeted Hermione with a kiss just to spite Mrs Granger even more.  
  
“Where is Althea?” he asked.  
  
Like on cue, his daughter came running from the bedroom and stopped, demanding to be lifted up.  
  
“ _Grandma is angry,_ _and Mum has been crying,_ ” his daughter informed him in Parseltongue.  
  
“ _Do you know why?”_ Voldemort asked, glancing at Hermione who looked just fine.  
  
“ _No. Will you read to_ _me tonight?”_  
  
“ _I will see what I can do_ ,” he promised before letting her down again.   
  
Althea skipped back to the room and closed the door. She liked her solitude, much like him when he was younger. Although, he had never run to meet an adult like that.  
  
He looked around the room. Mr Granger was sitting on the couch, pretending to read the paper. Something had made him rather uncomfortable, and Voldemort wondered what it was. Mrs Granger had also returned to the couch and seemed to be doing a crossword puzzle. However, Voldemort could feel her coldness towards him. Voldemort looked down at Hermione. She seemed to have noticed the tension as well and rubbed her stomach. Her pregnant stomach. Oh, right, she must have told them.  
  
“Well, isn’t this a cosy, uncomfortable tension we got here?” he said out loud, leading Hermione towards an armchair. He sat down in it with Hermione on the arm of it.  
  
Malcolm let his newspaper fall to his lap, still looking very uncomfortable. Helen, on the other hand, straightened her back and looked right at them.  
  
“Yes. Hermione told us about the pregnancy and that you haven’t reached your decision yet. In light of that, we are wondering what your intentions are with our daughter.”   
  
If Helen were a witch, he could have used her as an interrogator when he had been the Dark Lord. She seemed to know which questions to ask and wasn’t afraid to ask them. Voldemort didn’t think she would be against beating the answer out of someone if she had to. Being direct would be the best action here. If he beat around the bush, Helen would not respect him at all.   
  
“For now, I plan to live with her and help her recover from her ordeal. I don’t want us to make a hasty decision about the foetus.”  
  
“But what do you want to do with _her_?” Helen asked.  
  
Voldemort hesitated. He knew what most parents would want for their children: a marriage. He had never wanted to get married, and he didn’t really know what Hermione’s thoughts on the matter were. However, he did want her to be his, in every sense of the word. Being married would make everyone else see that she belonged to him as well.  
  
He turned to Hermione. “Well, this wasn’t how I had planned to ask you, but … someday, in a not too distant future, would you like to marry me?”  
  
Hermione gaped, clearly shocked. Damn, he should have prepared her. If her parents thought that there was something wrong, they would start fuzzing. He quickly grasped her hand.  
  
“If you aren’t ready for marriage yet, I understand. We don’t have to rush. I just want you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Not once before have I experienced such contentment as I do when I’m with you.”  
  
Hermione swallowed. She looked like she had been boxed in a corner. “Well, this is rather sudden. I hadn’t expected you to ask me like this.”  
  
He grimaced. “I know, sorry. You know I’m not very good at being romantic.”  
  
She blinked at him. Then, she began laughing. She laughed long and hard, until tears started to run from her eyes of laughter. From the corner of his eyes, Voldemort saw Malcolm getting up.  
  
“Hermione? Are you alright?” Malcolm asked, sounding concerned.  
  
Hermione’s laugh lessened, but he could still see the mirth in her eyes. It had been a long time since he saw her so amused. The last time must have been before she found out his true identity.  
  
“I’m fine. But I do think that is a bit of an understatement, Marcus,” Hermione said, still giggling a bit. “‘Not very good at being romantic’. The worst romantic in the whole of Britain is more like it. Possibly even the whole world.”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I probably am. But you aren’t much better, kitten.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “I suppose not.” Then, she became thoughtful. “Merlin, our wedding will be a disaster! People will be crying in horror! I think we better order professional help for the planning. I mean, if we were to organise it …” She shook her head, trailing off.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent researcher. How hard can one party really be to throw?”  
  
“You say that now, but just wait till you see the bill,” Malcolm commented dryly, sitting down again.  
  
Voldemort and Hermione turned their attention back to her parents.  
  
“Right,” Voldemort commented and then looked at Helen. “Does that answer your questions on what my plans with your daughter are, Mrs Granger?”  
  
Helen was still frowning, but then, she sighed. “Well, since both of you clearly are serious about this, I won’t be in your way.”  
  
“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione mumbled.  
  
“I just want you to be happy, Hermione,” Helen added mildly. “Excuse me.” She left for the bathroom.  
  
Voldemort stood up as well. “I need a word in private, Hermione. It’s about school.”  
  
That tempered Hermione’s happiness. “Let’s go to your flat. See you later, Dad.” She rose as well and made her way towards the door.  
  
Voldemort was right behind her when he heard Malcolm clear his throat. He turned towards the younger man (who might look older, but Malcolm was still at least fifteen years younger than him).   
  
“Yes?” Voldemort asked.  
  
Malcolm walked up to him. “I’m usually against violence, Foster. However, you are in a position to cause my daughter great sorrow. Since you are a father yourself, I just want you to consider this: If anyone were to hurt your daughter, what would you be willing to do then?”  
  
Voldemort highly doubted the other man would be able to pour lava through the nostrils of another person, but he did make a mental note for himself. If he,for some reason, had to hurt Hermione, he would kill her parents as well. Not that he really believed two Muggles could harm him, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.  
  
“I get your point, Mr Granger,” he just replied and left.  
  
When he entered his flat, Hermione was already sitting on the couch, leaning her head against the back and staring at the ceiling.  
  
“You seem troubled,” he noted and sat down next to her.  
  
She sighed. “You just told me you wanted to marry me.”  
  
“And?”  
  
She snorted. “Right. You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
If there were something Voldemort had always hated, it was people telling him he wouldn’t understand.   
  
“I’m one of the most educated men you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. There is little that I do not understand.”  
  
She tilted her head, looking at him. “Well then, Mr Know-It-All, can you understand that I would want to marry out of love?”  
  
Voldemort regarded her for a moment. She was telling the truth.   
  
“Yes, I’m aware that a lot of people fancy themselves in love and use it as a reason to reproduce and marry. However, what we have far outweighs the notion of love. What we have is very much real and very powerful.” Illustrating it, he gripped her cheek with his hand and stroked down her neck.  
  
“Love is real, too,” she said with a shuddering breath.  
  
“Then, how come you have never experienced it?”  
  
She looked at him, puzzled, until she recalled she had given him access to her memories. “I love Althea and my parents.”  
  
“Different thing,” he dismissed, starting to unbutton her blue shirt. “You share the same blood. You want them to be well and protected.”  
  
She got a thoughtful expression on her face. “Just so that we are speaking about the same thing, what do you think love is?”  
  
He arched an eyebrow, stopping his movements.  
  
“I mean, what definition would you give love if you had to?” she clarified.  
  
He thought about it for a moment. “The insanity that makes people want to risk their lives for someone else.”  
  
She straddled him with her shirt still half open. Voldemort frowned as she stroked his cheek up to his hair. Her other hand came up to his hair as well. Voldemort was about to ask what she was doing when he felt a sting of magic enter his mind. He was about to push her off when she withdrew her hands, staring at them.  
  
“What did you do?” he asked, trying to feel if anything had changed inside him.  
  
“Well, I wanted you to understand.” She leaned back in his lap, her hands falling down to her sides.  
  
“Understand what?”  
  
“That it’s much harder creating a life than taking one.” She spoke as if the words were just coming to her. He did not like that.  
  
“And how exactly are you planning to do that?”  
  
“I just got an idea and I remembered this Legilimency book I read a few weeks ago about enhancing the Legilimency by making the caster experience the feelings of the subject when viewing a memory …” She hesitated.  
  
He did not like where this was going one bit. “And?”  
  
“Well, I figured it could be used the other way around to send emotions to someone, and I just want you to feel what it’s like going through labour, so you’ll know that it’s much harder creating life than destroying life,” she finished in a near whisper.  
  
“WHAT?” he roared, standing up and dropping her on the coffee table.  
  
She winced. “I don’t know if it actually worked! Just as I thought it, I felt this spark go through me.”  
  
He just stared at her. It didn’t feel like any foreign magical force was inside him. Perhaps it hadn’t worked. He had never heard about such a phenomenon before. However, he was still waiting on the book from the author who knew about Legilimency through touch. He hadn’t found any books in the Oxford library on it, only a bit more information about the author who had been dead for a couple of decades. Perhaps the book itself would contain more knowledge.  
  
Hermione was looking up at him anxiously. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed her wrists, pulling her up.  
  
“I think we’ll have to tie these naughty hands up for a while, don’t you agree?” he growled, pulling her towards the bedroom.  
  
“W-what?” She sounded worried but didn’t fight him.  
  
“Voldemort lesson one-oh-one, Hermione. I’m in control. Always.”   
  
In the bedroom, he pushed her down on her back and undid the rest of her shirt. Then, he used it to tie her wrists together above her head.  
  
“What are you planning to do?” she asked; her tone was still having a hint of worry, but in her eyes, he could see lust.  
  
He smirked and leaned in to kiss her, nibbling her lip for a short moment. “Teaching you a lesson.”  
  
Her breathing grew harder when he ripped off her bra and started to play with her breasts with his mouth, biting softly into the soft skin. He undid her jeans, scratching her hips and arse as he pulled them down. Only when she was completely naked, did he stand up and start to undress himself. Her body was a masterpiece. Exactly how he liked it. Breasts small enough to be completely covered by his hands. An interesting scar, showing what a feisty woman she was. Narrow waist, small hips, they were excellent and easy to position after his liking. Strong, long, pale legs. She hadn’t shaved them in a while, he noted. He didn’t really care what she did with her body hair, just as long as she let her pubic hair be. In contrast to the hair on her head, her pubic hair was smooth and soft. He liked feeling it between his fingers as he played with her clit.  
  
The last of his garments touched the floor, and he stepped closer to the bed again. Her mouth was half open, and she was staring at him, willing him to touch her. His mouth formed into a smirk again as he sat down on the bed next to her. He brought his hand to her stomach and circled her bellybutton with his fingers. Her stomach was still relatively flat. A bit too flat even, but she had already started to gain back the weight she’d lost during her imprisonment. In a couple of months, however, her stomach would start to rise.  
  
If he allowed her to continue the pregnancy, that was. It would be very easy to slip an abortion potion into her drink. This early in the pregnancy, she would probably not even notice something was wrong, until the blood came. If the book he had read were correct, it would only be a bit more blood than during her menstruation. A miscarriage at this point in time was very common, and some women didn’t even notice it. They just thought their period was a little late. He doubted Hermione would lose much sleep over it once it were over.  
  
However … what would it be like if he allowed it to progress? His cock grew painfully hard at the thought of her heavy with his child inside of her. No one would be able to miss the fact that she was his. A mark of his ownership. Like the Dark Mark he had tattooed into his followers, but bigger. More noticeable.  
  
He moved to sit between her legs, placing both his hands on her stomach. She was tiny, so her pregnancy would probably be seen early. Everyone in the world would be able to witness that he had managed to snatch the cleverest witch of her generation. With his offspring in her stomach and possibly even his ring on her finger, everyone would know she belonged to him. That would also open up new doors for him because of the status she and her friends had.  
  
He was aware of the power of status. That was how he had managed to get so many followers so quickly. Malfoy, Lestrange and Avery had had influence in that time’s society. Now it were Granger, Weasley and Potter that carried the big names. Hermione had never taken advantage of it, but with his encouragement, a lot of powerful people would listen to her. Or rather, him.  
  
“Yes,” he hissed and without much warning, he entered her.  
  
She was already dripping wet without him having to do anything. Always wet for him. He placed his hands on either side of her body and began thrusting hard and fast. Her legs came around his body, and she tilted her hips to meet his strokes. They were both utterly close to their climax when he stopped, remembering that he still had to teach her a lesson. He withdrew, at once missing the tight heat from inside her. However, all he had to do was think about his marks on her body and stroke his cock three times before he came all over her upper body.  
  
Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she stared at him questioningly.   
  
He stroked away a few drops of sperm that had landed on her cheek. “In the future I want you to think twice before you try to do some improvised spell on me again. Understand?”  
  
Her eyes narrowed in anger. He licked his own sperm from his thumb and rose with a smile, heading for the shower.   
  
“Oh, and we are keeping the child,” he called back just before he closed the door.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Nerys for betaing!

**Chapter 22**  
  
Hermione didn’t know if she should just sigh and get up, or scream. She had been left unsatisfied and sticky on the bed. For a moment, she thought he was playing with her and would come back and finish. But then she heard the shower turning on, and she knew he didn’t plan to come back. She scowled against the ceiling and managed to wriggle herself into a sitting position, moving her bound hands in front of her. With a little help from her teeth, she managed to undo the knot he had made in her shirt, and she used it to wipe the sperm from her stomach before throwing it on the floor. Merlin, she needed a shower as well. And to get off. Her lower regions were throbbing with unfulfilled need.  
  
Stepping into the bathroom, she marched straight into the running shower where Voldemort was already standing. The shower wasn’t big; it was just a stall with a curtain hanging around it. Voldemort was shampooing his hair when she entered, and he didn’t open his eyes, but she knew he knew she was there. The small smirk at the corner of his mouth was very telling. She nudged him away and stepped under the running water, wanting to wash herself off. She had only began to wet her hair when he moved in under the water as well, forcing her back against the wall. Her sex clenched with need. She wanted him so much!  
  
However, his cock hung soft and useless between his legs. Well, she would have to do something about that, wouldn’t she? She trailed her fingers over his chest and stomach, all the way down to his thigh. Sneaking a glance upward, she noticed his smirk had disappeared, but he wasn’t looking like he was about to move away. She moved her thumbs at the inside of his thighs, up under his cock. When she started to massage his sacks, he let out a sigh and opened his eyes.  
  
“And what do you think will happen if you continue to do that?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
“I was hoping you would ravish me against the wall,” she answered truthfully, trying not to blush too much. If there were one thing she had learned about him was that he rewarded honesty.  
  
“Is that so?” he mused, his hands coming up to her neck. “But I’m not a teenage boy, Hermione. I need some time to recov— Oh!”  
  
Hermione had read that some men liked to be stroked right behind the sacks. It appeared Voldemort was one of those men. She looked up at him innocently. “I could stop?”  
  
He gripped her neck with both hands. “Stop and I will strangle you.”  
  
It was really wrong that his threat only made her hornier. His cock grew harder, and she moved one hand up to stroke the head. It didn’t take long until his hands moved down from her neck and brushed her hands away. Then, he lifted her up against the wall and placed her legs around his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. She was already so close to an orgasm it wouldn’t take much until she was pushed over the edge.  
  
When he began to thrust in and out of her, she met his strokes eagerly. One of his hands was supporting her arse and the other was between her legs, playing with her clit. She bit into his neck as she came, muffling the scream of satisfaction. He followed soon afterwards, and they were left panting under the hot water.  
  
Hermione moved her legs down to the floor and leaned her head against his chest. Now she could think straight again. “So you want me to keep the baby?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why?”   
  
The fact that she would keep the child didn’t sadden her. Quite the opposite. It made her heart feel warm, and she wanted to prove to herself that she could be a good mother from the very beginning. But at the same time, she was worried about what Voldemort could want with it. Because she was sure he felt like he was winning something with his decision. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it.  
  
He was silent for a moment before he answered. “It would go well with my persona.”  
  
She leaned back, looking up at him. “But you are not Marcus Foster.”  
  
“But I am. That is the secret behind a good alias. You and I are the only ones who know the truth. The rest doesn’t even suspect me. Why would they? I have created a past for Marcus Foster; now I’ll also have a future for him.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, but don’t try to fool me, Voldemort. _You_ must be getting something out of this as well.”  
  
He smiled and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “You are so cute when you are trying to figure something out, kitten.” He stepped away from her and washed off his sex before making his way out of the shower.  
  
“Wait,” she said, scowling.  
  
He looked at her, his hand already on the shower curtain.  
  
“If we will have a second child together, we are going to have a serious talk about how to raise them. And you _will_ compromise.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what if I don’t care about that?”  
  
“Well, if you want people to see you as Marcus Foster, you can’t treat them as you would if you were Voldemort. It would be very suspicious if your own children feared you.”  
  
He glared at her. “We shall see about that.”   
  
He stepped outside, and a moment later, she heard the bathroom door slam close. Hermione sighed. But she was going to fight for this. She wanted Althea and the next child to begin a Muggle school before Hogwarts. And she didn’t want them to have to be afraid of their father. Somehow, she would make sure they had a happy childhood, no matter what.  
  
She allowed herself to take a long shower before she went back to the bedroom again. She had left her dressing grown there, and now, she pulled it on while waiting for her hair to dry somewhat so she could start brushing it. In the meantime, she was getting hungry.  
  
Voldemort was already lying on the couch fully dressed with a bowl of soup on his stomach and a book hovering in front of him. “There is food on the counter under a stasis charm,” he said without looking up.  
  
Hermione went over to it and poured herself some of the soup. She brought the bowl to the armchair before she began eating.  
  
“How come you are so good at cooking?” she asked after tasting the delicious carrot soup.  
  
“Practise,” he replied, eyes not leaving the book.  
  
“Obviously. But there has to be more to it. My parents are just mediocre cooks, even though they have been going at it for forty years or so.”  
  
He sighed and turned his head. “Can’t you see I’m reading?”  
  
“Yes, and that’s rather rude when someone tries to talk with you,” she replied cheekily.   
  
She wanted to talk to him about something normal. Something that took her mind away from everything that had happened. She was in a good mood after the sex and she wanted to stay that way.  
  
He studied her closely for a moment, and then, sighed. The book slammed close and floated back to the bookcase.   
  
“Very well. I hate the British kitchen, and for obvious reasons, I prefer to prepare my own food. Because of this, I’ve tried to find new sorts of food, which have led to a lot of practice, and thus, I excel at cooking.” He sat up and ate the last of his bowl’s contents before placing the bowl on the coffee table.  
  
“Oh.” She ate some more. “How come you hate it?”  
  
“I grew up in the thirties, Hermione, just after the economic collapse. How do you imagine the conditions of the food were at an orphanage?”  
  
“I see.” Since he seemed in a sharing mood, she continued to ask: “What was it like growing up before and during World War Two?”  
  
He arched an eyebrow. “Horrible. Every night I was begging to the gods to please spare my life and not let the evil forces take me … I think that must be the reason why I am like this today. Oh, yes, now when I’ve finally got to share the burdens of my childhood, I can see the light. I want to spread joy to the world by handing out kittens and candy canes.”  
  
She scowled. “I was only curious. There is no need to mock me.”  
  
He snorted and stood up. “Oh, I’m sure you have no intentions whatsoever to turn me into a good, little boy.” He took her now empty bowl and disposed of them in the sink. “And we have more important things to discuss than whatever traumatic experience I encountered during my childhood.”  
  
Hermione sighed. Apparently, he wasn’t in a sharing mood. Perhaps she could try again sometime after they had sex? “Fine. What important thing?”  
  
He came back to the couch and sat down again, swinging his legs up on the table. “I spoke with Cox-Trotter today. She wants to talk with you before the council does.”  
  
Hermione felt her stomach twist into a knot. “And?”  
  
“The council wouldn’t mind kicking you out. Half of them are ancient fossils who still think women should be home with the babies, Muggle-borns should be grateful for whatever bone they are given and young people are too stupid to ever be of any use.”  
  
She swallowed. “And the other half?”  
  
“Of the seven in the council, I think only two have sympathy for you. Cox-Trotter is one of them. However, even if she can persuade them to let you continue your education, you can kiss whatever hope you have of becoming a Transfiguration Mistress goodbye. The majority of the council has to approve your doctoral thesis when you present it. No matter how innovative and spectacular you’ll no doubt make it, they won’t approve.” He placed his hands behind his head.  
  
She sighed. She had feared as much. “But I guess you could still fix this mess if I … do what?”  
  
“Of course I can fix it. However, this is your punishment for trying to kill me. Why would I fix it?”   
  
Did he have to look so pleased?  
  
“Oh, and since you have already agreed to have sex with me whenever I want, you’ll have to come up with something else.”  
  
“Why can’t you just be nice and helpful for a change? You may like it!” she exclaimed.  
  
He began laughing. Hermione had never heard him laugh like that. It was not a cold laugh but a laugh of amusement. It suited him. If only he hadn’t been laughing at her.  
  
“Fine,” she growled. She did not like the way this conversation was heading. Okay, so it wasn’t strange that he wanted to punish her for trying to kill him. But wasn’t it punishment enough for her to have to live with him forever? “If you help me stay at Oxford and make sure they don’t destroy my chances to become a Transfiguration Mistress, I’ll marry you.”  
  
He removed his legs from the table and leaned forward instead. “We’ve already established that.”  
  
She crossed her arms. “I never agreed. And since you can’t force me to marry you without risking to arouse suspicions, you’ll need my agreement.”  
  
“How had you planned to keep me from murdering Muggles through sex if you aren’t married to me?”  
  
She snorted. “I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?”  
  
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. But then you’ll have to start acting like you love me in front of your friends. And I don’t mean I’m-under-a-love-potion love, I mean like society expect a woman in love to behave. To testify to that, you’ll make sure it’s the wedding of the century.”  
  
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. What could he possibly win by having a big wedding? Or maybe he had always dreamt about a big wedding? No, that was ridiculous.   
  
“And you’ll act like you love me?”  
  
“Naturally. I’ll even buy you flowers, if you want to.”  
  
“Very well,” she agreed, clenching her teeth together.  
  
Now he seemed pleased again. Hermione hoped that meant he was satisfied with her offer and would help her.  
  
“So how do you plan to make the council accept me?” she asked.  
  
“Oh, I have my ways. It will definitely help that we will get engaged.”  
  
“You won’t hurt anyone?”  
  
“The less you know, the less guilt you have to burden yourself with,” he replied with a smirk. “Enough about this, though. I’m horny. Come here.”  
  
“But we just had sex twice!” she cried. “I’m not horny at all.”  
  
He leaned back on the couch, his hands behind his head. “First, that doesn’t matter because you promised you’d fuck me whenever I wanted to. Second … yes, you are.”  
  
“No, I’m not!” But as she said it, she could feel her sex starting to throb.  
  
He smirked knowingly.  
  
“What did you do?” she demanded, coming over to him and undoing her bathrobe. She had promised after all. And, well, she rather fucked him than argued with him.  
  
“Nothing. Just proving that the mere thought of having sex with me makes you wet.”  
  
“Shut up,” she growled and straddled him.  
  
“Make me,” he mumbled just before she captured his lips in a searing kiss.  
  
Much later that night, Hermione lay awake in Voldemort’s bed, staring at the small glimmer of light that made its way through the curtains. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep after her seventh orgasm that day, but now, she just couldn’t sleep anymore. It was still in the middle of the night, and she felt quite comfortable just lying there, listing to Voldemort’s heavy breathing next to her.  
  
Her fiancé. Soon-to-be-husband. The father of her children. Oh, and one of the darkest wizards who had ever existed.  
  
She turned her head and looked at him. Even in his sleep, he looked intimidating. Or perhaps that was because she knew that if she as much as moved to touch him, he would awaken, ready to curse her. Or curse anyone else who dared enter the room. She was certain that he would hex anyone who came in, even if that person were only interested in hurting her. He would keep her safe from others. She was his.  
  
It should bother her much more than it did, she was aware of that. She had always known she was her own person, free to make her own choices in life. She had even made it her mission to free others from enslavement, even if they didn’t seem to want it. Yet, when he had told her parents that he intended to marry her, she hadn’t protested. Even when she had promised to marry him if he helped her stay at Oxford, she had known she would marry him even if he didn’t help her. He probably knew that as well.  
  
Hermione shifted her leg slightly and grimaced when the muscles in her groin protested. She would have one hell of cramp in the morning. He hadn’t hold back at all today. Every time they fucked, he had become more and more aggressive. She had loved it. Not that she would ever admit it out loud. However, she was sure he knew that, too.  
  
How come he didn’t gloat about it? Did he have a kind bone in his body? Or did he just know that if he didn’t bring it up, she wouldn’t start to fight it? Because she probably would have put up more of a fight if he had said anything along the line of “I know you want it”.  
  
Being with him went against everything she believed in, but she just couldn’t help it. Without him, she was scared. With him, she knew she was protected. If they hadn’t had a fight just before she was kidnapped and he hadn’t got thrown into prison, she was completely certain he would have searched for her.  
  
Wasn’t that what everyone wanted, really? Someone that would always search for you? Someone who wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt you?  
  
Okay, so with Voldemort, he wanted to punish her himself. However, that wasn’t as bad as it could be. She knew that she could handle what he did to her. She had so far. Besides, she could always compromise her way out of his punishments. Like she had done today. Or maybe that was what he had wanted from the beginning? Why did he want to have a big wedding? It wasn’t like either of them had a lot of friends. At least she didn’t.  
  
However, she did have a lot of associates. Like everyone in the Order. But would they really come if she invited them? It wasn’t like she had bothered to stay in touch with anyone. She was sure Harry and the Weasleys would come. Maybe Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. Other than that, she wasn’t so sure.  
  
Even though she was recognised by many, she wasn’t famous like Harry was. People didn’t seem to want to be in her presence as they wanted with him. Not that she minded, of course. However, when everyone would fight to get an invitation to the Potter-Weasley wedding, she seriously didn’t know whom she would invite to hers. Perhaps Voldemort should have married Harry if he wanted a big wedding.  
  
The thought made her snort out loud before she could muffle it. Voldemort opened his eyes. When he saw that it was just her, he yawned and stretched.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.  
  
“Just thinking.”  
  
“About?” He closed his eyes again and turned to the side so he was facing her, even though he looked like he was about to fall asleep again at any moment.  
  
“Why do you want a big wedding?”  
  
He smiled, eyes still closed. “They seem more fun.”  
  
She huffed. “Yeah, right. Seriously?”  
  
He opened his eyes again. “I have a lot of new friends and I want them around me on the happiest day of my life.”  
  
She stared at him in disbelief.  
  
“Oh, I’m not jesting,” he purred and moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheek. “And you better act like it’s your happiest day as well. Now go back to sleep.”  
  
After a moment, Hermione relaxed in his arms and closed her eyes. At least now she knew that the wedding had something to do with “friends”. When she saw the guest-list, she would probably figure out what he was up to.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort straightened his navy-blue teaching robe before he knocked on the door to Master Nabelius’s office. He was the oldest member of the council and the one with the most influence, besides Professor Cox-Trotter.  
  
“Enter,” came a dry, old voice from inside.  
  
Voldemort opened the door and stepped inside the overblown office. Master Nabelius was sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk. He was slowly writing on a scroll with a long quill, his round glasses at the tip of his nose. Even though he looked older and slower than Dumbledore had done before his death, Master Nabelius was not to be underestimated. He was still very aware of his power and cared all about appearances. Voldemort was quite sure the old goat had planned his own funeral down to what type of handkerchief the guests would use to wipe away their (no doubt fake) tears.  
  
After half a minute, the wizard looked up from his scroll. “Ah, Professor Foster. What brings you here?”  
  
“There is something I wish to discuss with you about a student of mine, Miss Granger.”  
  
The wizard leaned back in his chair with a nasty smirk on his face. “Yes. You made a real fool of yourself there, Foster. What has the little slut promised you for coming here? And don’t you dare look appalled, boy, I know her type.”  
  
Voldemort sighed theatrically and sat down in the armchair across the desk, even though the old man hadn’t invited him to. Voldemort had expected this response. Master Nabelius was very careful not to insult the wrong people but took his horrible personality out on the ones he thought were below him. Voldemort was very much looking forward to the day he could show the dried-up, old coot that Lord Voldemort wasn’t below anyone.  
  
“She has promised to marry me, as a matter of fact. And since I want a respected wife, I am here to … ah, convince you to not destroy Miss Granger’s chances at Oxford,” Voldemort said, his wand dancing between his fingers.  
  
Master Nabelius’ eyes narrowed as he watched the wand. “Cursing me will get you nowhere, boy. Security will be here before you have a chance to even aim your wand.”  
  
Voldemort doubted that, since he was very quick with his wand. “I never planned to do anything of such crudeness. But by all means, call in security. I think they would be happy to know all about the strange murder on a Muggle-born that happened here back in the Seventies.”  
  
The quill snapped in the hundred-and-twelve-year-old’s hand. “What are you suggesting, Professor Foster?”  
  
Voldemort smirked. “Even though the Aurors thought it was a Death Eater attack, not everyone bought it. Oh, I’m sure You-Know-Who would have ordered the death of Mr Andersen as he started to get influence here but … I have reasons to believe someone else was to blame for this.”  
  
“You know nothing!” Nabelius rasped, sweat starting to form at his forehead.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “Now, now, Master Nabelius, I’m certain that I can … forget to mention my findings to the Aurors if I have something happier to celebrate.” He rose. “But if Miss Granger isn’t allowed to continue her studies without reprisals, I will be very displeased. And you don’t want to see me displeased, Master Nabelius.” He stroked his wand slowly. “I hope we understand each other?”  
  
Nabelius tried to scowl, but the fear in his eyes was obvious. “We do, Professor Foster.”  
  
“Excellent. Good day.”  
  
Voldemort left the office and went straight to Cox-Trotter’s office where Hermione was. Since his meeting with Nabelius had gone by fast, he assumed he would have to wait a while until Hermione was done. To his surprise, the door opened just a few minutes after he had sat down on one of the benches, which were strategically placed a little here and there in the corridors.  
  
“How did it go?” he asked as Hermione came out, looking rather relieved.  
  
“She wanted to be sure that I hadn’t used our connection for any unfair advantage. I swore that I hadn’t, and since there haven’t been any exams yet and I’ve only handed in two papers, she said that it would not be too hard to check. She was happy to hear that we are getting engaged, by the way. It puts us in a better light. She thought it would also be good if we made it official before my council hearing next Friday,” Hermione summarised in a low voice as they went towards the exit.  
  
“Well, if you are up for it, we can go and pick up the papers at the Ministry right away,” Voldemort suggested.  
  
Hermione looked a bit nervous. “Can’t we wait until after lunch? There may be less people there on a Friday afternoon.”  
  
He shrugged. “Fine. Where do you want to eat?”  
  
“Can’t we bring my parents to lunch? They will, after all, be leaving on Sunday.”  
  
Voldemort sighed, but since he knew he would be rid of her parents in just two days, he decided he could live through it. “Very well. Walk or Apparate?”  
  
Hermione hesitated before she let out a sigh. “Walk. I don’t want anyone to think I’m hiding.”  
  
Voldemort just opened the door for her and didn’t mention that she had in fact been hiding from the world this week. He benefited more from being seen with her than the amusement he would get by making her scowl. Although, not a lot of people seemed to notice that they were walking together. The few who did immediately began whispering about it to their companions, but on a whole, the majority of the students were too busy with their own thing to notice them. After all, there were a lot of professors and students walking in close proximity on their way to lunch. Voldemort acted on the urge to take Hermione’s hand, just so people would notice and see that she was his. The faster everyone realised that, the better.  
  
It took about ten minutes for the Grangers and Althea to get ready for lunch. Since it was unusually good weather for the second week of December, they decided to walk from the magical area of Oxford and find a good restaurant by foot. They took their time eating. Hermione told her parents that they would get engaged and that she had decided to keep the baby. To Voldemort’s surprise, her parents didn’t object at all.  
  
It was almost two o’clock when they finally left. Helen and Malcolm decided to take a walk and maybe do some shopping, which left Althea to go with Hermione and Voldemort to the Ministry. They had just stepped out the lift inside the Ministry when Hermione’s name was called.  
  
From their left, Voldemort saw the Minister of Magic himself coming towards them in the nearly empty hallway. He noted Hermione smiling a bit insecurely.  
  
“Minister,” she said politely.  
  
“Please, Hermione, we have fought side by side. Call me Kingsley,” the big man said and gave her a hug. “What brings you to the Ministry?”  
  
Voldemort did not like the way the Minister appreciated Hermione’s appearance. He didn’t even seem put off by Althea holding her hand. Voldemort knew Shacklebolt was a womaniser, even though he had become a lot more careful since he became Minister. However, Shacklebolt had still been seen in romantic encounters with six different women in the last four years, and Voldemort knew about at least six more women who had found their way to the Minister’s bed.  
  
It wasn’t that Voldemort thought Hermione would be interested in the much too tall wizard, but Voldemort felt a strong need to mark his territory. He placed his left hand on her shoulder.  
  
“We are actually here to make our engagement official,” he said smoothly.  
  
A flash of disappointment was seen in Shacklebolt’s eyes, and his smile became a little less friendly. “Oh, so you are the infamous Marcus Foster?”  
  
“I am,” he said, not breaking eye contact with him.   
  
In his mind, he imagined what would happen if he brought out his wand and decapitated the other man. At least then, Shacklebolt would be of normal length. Voldemort hated having to look up at people. He usually didn’t have to either. If someone were taller than him, he tried to gain height some other way, by standing on a platform or in a staircase. Here, there was nothing like that. Hence, he had to prove his superiority some other way.  
  
“Hermione never told me you two knew each other. But oh, that’s right. You were both in the Order.” Voldemort smiled. “Must have been a relief to have someone as remarkably brilliant as Hermione on the team to save you all, right?”  
  
The Minister crossed his arm. “It was. But how are you feeling, Hermione? I really hope no one has been disturbing you after your, er, ordeal.”  
  
“I’m fine, Kingsley. And no, no one has disturbed me. I’ve been at home with Marcus, Althea and my parents. Just coping, you know.”  
  
Shacklebolt sighed. “Yes, I’ll never forgive myself for not protesting when the Wizengamot started to release known Death Eaters.”  
  
“It would have happened sooner or later,” Hermione said, her chin rising a little. “I survived.”  
  
“Indeed. If you weren’t so big at the university, I would have insisted you joined the Aurors. But oh, I won’t keep you standing here. I got some politicians to hex. Or wish I could hex, anyway.” He grimaced. “Congratulations to the engagement. And if you need a minister for the bonding ceremony, I’ll be honoured to do it.”  
  
Hermione glanced at Voldemort who gave her a tiny nod. “We’ll probably take you up on that, Kingsley. Take care.” After another hug with Hermione and a nod to Voldemort, Shacklebolt disappeared into the lift.  
  
“Mum?” Althea asked. She had been staring wide-eyed at the Minister. “Who’s that?”  
  
“That was one of my old friends, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He is the leader of this country,” Hermione explained and tugged Althea along down the hallway.  
  
“Why’s he so big?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“He wasn’t that big,” Voldemort growled, not liking the way Althea seemed to have been enthralled by the other man.  
  
“You didn’t like him,” Hermione noted in a low voice.  
  
“He wanted to fuck you. Of course I didn’t like him,” he muttered in an equally low voice.  
  
“You won’t hurt him, will you?” she asked, worried.  
  
When he didn’t answer at once, she pinched him.  
  
“Ouch! No, I don’t plan to. Not as long as he keeps his hands to himself. However, if you pinch me again, I will hurt you.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “You promised …”  
  
He rolled his eyes and interrupted her. “Sexually, obviously. In the I-can’t-believe-I-actually-enjoyed-that-it-was-so-wrong kind of way.”  
  
“Oh. Hey, don’t talk around such things when Althea is around!”  
  
He looked down at his daughter who followed their conversation with her usual interest. “She doesn’t care. Besides, it isn’t like her ears will catch fire just because she hears the word ‘fuck’. You are just worried she will repeat it in a crowd, and then, people will start to think you expose her to bad things.”  
  
“No, I don’t worry about that,” she protested.  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her.  
  
She sighed. “I just don’t want Mrs Weasley hearing it. She will fuss.”  
  
He snorted just as they came to a stop at the Social Affairs Office. A witch in her mid-twenties was sitting at the reception and was more than happy to hand out the right paperwork for them to fill in. It only took fifteen minutes to write everything down, and when they handed them in, the receptionist explained that they would receive a notification when the papers had been processed.  
  
Betrothed, they made their way back to the entrance hall. Voldemort was feeling very happy. Again, he had tied Hermione closer to him, and she seemed to accept it. Everything was running along just smoothly.  
  
Just before they were about to Apparate, he spotted another couple who looked like they were also about to be engaged. She was clinging to his arm, and he didn’t seem to mind. Also, on her finger, he noticed a golden ring. Voldemort sighed. He had had the feeling he was forgetting something. Or, not forgetting, of course, more like ignoring since he wasn’t one to be influenced by Muggle customs. However, he had noticed that more and more young people started to get engagement rings. Hermione’s friend Ginevra wore one.  
  
“What?” Hermione asked when she noticed he wasn’t Apparating them.  
  
“Do you want an engagement ring?” he asked.  
  
She frowned. “I didn’t think you approved of anything Muggle?”  
  
He sighed. “It’s just a ring. I don’t really care. If you want one, I do have enough money to buy you the most exclusive one.”  
  
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really care either. I’m not used to wearing jewellery. Will we have wedding rings?”  
  
“Half-bloods and Muggle-borns usually have. Pure-bloods cling to the old ways and have the tattoo instead.”  
  
“Right. Do you have to choose between those two?”  
  
Voldemort frowned. “I have never bothered to read about it.”  
  
Hermione grinned. “You mean there is something you don’t know?”  
  
He scowled. “Well, it will be easy enough to find out, won’t it? Hold on.”  
  
He Apparated the three of them out of the Ministry, and they landed just outside their building at Oxford. As they entered, they met yet another friend of Hermione’s, Ginevra Weasley. She was coming down the stairs, and when she spotted them, she stopped.  
  
“Gins!” Althea exclaimed, letting go of Hermione to run and hug Weasley.   
  
Voldemort had to force back a grimace. He did not like the fact that his daughter seemed to like the redhead. She would get enough wrong influence from Hermione.  
  
“Hello, Althea, how nice to see you!” Weasley said, sitting down to hug Althea before looking up at Hermione again.  
  
“I was just at your door, but no one answered,” she explained with a weak smile. “How are you?”  
  
“Good enough,” Hermione answered. “Would you like some tea?”  
  
Voldemort mentally grimaced. He had looked forward to some afternoon sex to celebrate their betrothal. Surely, that was customary?  
  
“If I’m not intruding?” Weasley asked, looking from Hermione to Voldemort.  
  
Yes, Voldemort wanted to answer.  
  
“No, not at all,” Hermione said quickly. “In fact, I planned to owl you and invite you over.”  
  
She had?  
  
“Oh. Well, in that case.” Weasley rose and went up the stairs, still holding Althea’s hand and asking the young girl about her day. Hermione followed before Voldemort had time to ask what she was doing.  
  
A few minutes later, they were all sitting in an uncomfortable silence around the kitchen table. Except Althea who was thrilled to eat her ration of ice cream for the week. Voldemort ate his fourth potion of ice cream for the week with a little less enthusiasm and a lot more grace. Apparently, the women were to “grown-up” to have ice cream and had tea. Voldemort didn’t mind since it meant there was more for him.  
  
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Weasley finally asked.  
  
Hermione, who had been staring down her tea cup, looked up. “Oh, I just wanted to know a little more about wizarding weddings. Except for Bill’s, I’ve never been to one, and even though I’ve been preparing for yours, I don’t really know a lot about what to expect on the actual wedding or afterwards.”  
  
Weasley grinned. “You mean there is actually something I know more about than you do?”  
  
Hermione’s scowl was very much alike the one Voldemort had worn ten minutes ago.  
  
“Yes. However, we are ready to learn more now. Marcus and I just got engaged.”  
  
Weasley gasped. “Y-you got en-engaged?”  
  
Hermione looked down at the table. “Yes. Also, I’m not sure if Harry told you, but I’m pregnant again.”  
  
The red-haired witch was actually gaping as she stared in disbelief at Hermione. However, it didn’t take her very long to return to her senses. “Well, congratulation then. You must be very, ehrm, happy?”  
  
Hermione looked up, her face red. “Actually, we are. It may seem a bit rushed.”  
  
“A little,” her friend quickly agreed.  
  
“But we said that it would probably happen sooner or later and decided that, hey, why not now?”  
  
“I guess,” Ginny looked a bit uncertain. “But are you feeling alright? I mean, after what happened?”  
  
Like always when someone mentioned the kidnapping, Voldemort noted Hermione’s shoulders tense. “As good as can be expected. Having Marcus with me has really helped.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear.” At least she looked like she wanted to be glad. “But what do you want to know about weddings? Haven’t you been to a wedding before?” She directed the last question to Voldemort.  
  
“Just one British wizard’s wedding,” Voldemort answered honestly. “But they were traditional pure-bloods and it was quite stiff. I hope ours won’t be like it.”  
  
Of course, one of the reasons why it had been so stiff was because the young bride had cried as her father had dragged her down the aisle. It had been one of the few times Voldemort had seen Bellatrix cry. As Bella got to know Voldemort, she had matured into a fascinating creature that seemed to be able to handle anything thrown at her. Such a shame she grew insane. She would never have been bested by a Weasley in her prime.  
  
“Ugh, yes, they can be rather horrible. Especially the branding,” Weasley grimaced. “You should really go for the rings, like Harry and I. Most couples do these days.”  
  
“But you have to go with one of them?” Hermione wanted to know.  
  
“Yes. The vows are magically sealed into the rings or the tattoos. If you do a branding, you can never divorce because then, the magic will be in the skin. Also, if you break your vows with a branding, that will hurt you. With a ring, the vow breaking will just be transmitted to the Ministry’s archive. So, if you want to break off the marriage because your partner has broken the vows, you can ask them to look in the archives. I don’t really know how they can see it, but I guess it’s written down magically. Then, if you do get a divorce, a court will probably rule in your favour when it comes to material possessions, like who will get the house and those sorts of things.”  
  
“You can’t get a divorce otherwise?” Voldemort asked, frowning.  
  
“You can if both partners agree to it, but you have to be absolutely certain you can’t live with the other person. It’s not so much because of the Ministry, even though they do frown upon divorces, but because of the magical bond that is created between the couple. Although, luckily enough, you have to be really certain you want to get married to begin with, because the magic doesn’t work if you don’t really want to be married. At least not with the new type they use if you bind it with rings. With the branding, that was never a problem for some reason.”  
  
Weasley was fingering her own engagement ring while she talked. Voldemort saw that Hermione saw it, too. Did she want an engagement ring? She hadn’t given him a straight answer before. Maybe it was one of those things, which were supposed to be hinted. Voldemort was usually very good at reading what people wanted to hear and took great satisfaction in saying the opposite. However, if Hermione did indeed want an engagement ring, he didn’t mind giving her one. One of the reasons why he wanted to get married was because he wanted her marked. Why not do that already with a ring? However, if she didn’t want a ring, she might start to feel trapped with one and behave anxious. He didn’t want that either.  
  
“I think we’ll probably do the ring thing, then,” Hermione commented with a forced smile.  
  
“That is probably for the best. Since none of you are pure-blood, I think people would be surprised if you did the branding,” Weasley replied dryly. “When will your wedding be?”  
  
“Not before next winter,” Hermione said. “If all goes well with the pregnancy, I will give birth in August. I mean, I want to be able to dance at my own wedding!”  
  
“Oh, right, will you still be able to be my bridesmaid in April?” Weasley asked worriedly.  
  
“Definitely. I’ll be in the second trimester then, so the morning sickness should be gone, and I won’t yet be terribly big. Last time, I had just started to show by then. Maybe we just have to make my bridesmaid’s dress a little bigger,” Hermione said thoughtfully.  
  
“That’s good,” Weasley said, relieved. “And of course, you are welcome to come, too, Professor Foster. But during the wedding, Hermione will walk with my brother Charlie.”  
  
“Please, call me Marcus,” Voldemort said politely. “And I’ll be happy to come. We haven’t put together a guest list yet, but I’m sure you and Mr Potter are most welcomed.”  
  
“If I have bridesmaids, I’d be happy if you would be one of them,” Hermione quickly added. “But we haven’t planned that far ahead yet. I still need to research about it.”  
  
Weasley laughed. “Now, you are starting to sound like your old self. Hey, do you have any plans for Christmas yet?”  
  
Hermione tensed up again. “Ehm …”  
  
“Mum just wanted you to know that you are all invited to come to the Burrow for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. She would really much like to meet you,” Weasley quickly added, looking at Voldemort.  
  
“I’m sure that would be fun, but my parents have already asked us if we wanted to come down to Australia,” Hermione excused. “We’ll be staying till Boxing Day.”  
  
Voldemort saw an opportunity he didn’t want to miss. “But with the time difference, we will be back in Britain the morning of Boxing Day. The Portkey we have ordered will leave at six p.m. and then it will eight a.m. here. That is, if you think you are up for visiting your friends?”  
  
Hermione did seem a bit tempted. “We could do that. However, we will be rather tired when it’s time for lunch. Althea in particularly.”  
  
“Perhaps it will be alright to wait and see on Boxing Day?” Voldemort asked, looking at Weasley.  
  
“Yes, sure. You know Mum, Hermione, she always makes more food than necessary. If you can come, we’ll be happy, but if you can’t, we will understand.”  
  
Hermione and Weasley talked for a little while longer, and Voldemort used the “Althea needs a bath” excuse to get away from the chitchat. Not that it was an excuse since the girl needed a bath, but it was much more fun speaking to his daughter than listening to the redhead’s Christmas shopping experiences.  
  
“ _Dad, what does pregnant mean?”_ Althea asked in Parseltongue when she sat in the bathtub with Voldemort showering her hair.  
  
“ _Pregnant means that a woman is making a baby inside her belly_ ,” Voldemort answered in Parseltongue.  
  
“ _How?”_  
  
“ _Well, you know how you have a lot of pretty things on the inside of your body_?”  
  
Althea nodded and put a hand over her chest. “ _The dunk is my heart_.”  
  
“ _Exactly. You also have a thing inside your belly that is capable of creating babies_.”  
  
Althea frowned as she thought. “ _How do you know if you are pregnant, then?”_  
  
“ _You know how Mum and Dad play their adult game sometimes?”_  
  
“ _The naked playing?”_  
  
“ _Precisely. That sort of playing can start the thing inside your belly to create a baby. Soon, your mum’s belly will grow because the baby is growing. Then, when it’s big enough, it will come out and you’ll have a new baby to play with_.” Voldemort made sure all the shampoo was out of her hair before he put away the hose. “ _There, do you want to come up now_?”  
  
Althea nodded and stood, stretching out her arms so he could wrap the towel around her. Voldemort smiled. She was so trusting. If he played his cards right, she would grow up to be the perfect little minion to him.  
  
“ _Dad, why aren’t you pregnant_?” she asked when they were in the bedroom, dressing her again.  
  
“ _I don’t have the same things on the inside as your mum does_ ,” he explained, watching as she pulled on her socks.  
  
“ _Why not?”_  
  
“ _Because I’m a male_ , _and you and your mum are female_ ,” he explained.  
  
“ _Can’t I be a male?”_  
  
“ _With the right spells you could. But I suggest you try being female for a little while, okay?”_  
  
“ _Is it more fun being female?”_  
  
“ _I don’t know._ _I’ve never tried.”_  
  
“ _Why not?”_  
  
Voldemort thought about it. “ _I haven’t had time to try_.”  
  
Althea seemed completely puzzled by that. Voldemort smiled and then heard the chairs move in the other room. A thought occurred to him, and he stepped out. Hermione and Weasley were already hugging each other goodbye. Voldemort became a bit envious. They had just become engaged, and he hadn’t got to touch her at all yet. The moment Weasley was outside the door, he would change that. But first, he needed to ask the annoying woman a question.  
  
“Miss Weasley,” he asked. “Could I have a word with you before you leave? Alone?”  
  
Hermione looked a bit suspicious. “Why?”  
  
He chuckled, went up to her and kissed her forehead. “You’ll find out in about two weeks.”  
  
It took her a couple of seconds before she got the Christmas reference. Even though she didn’t seem to believe him, she played along. “Fine, I’ll go and make sure Althea is clean.”  
  
“She is. No peaking.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and closed the bedroom door behind her. Voldemort faced the redhead.  
  
“So, Miss Weasley …”  
  
“Ginny is good,” she interrupted.  
  
“Ginny, then. Or Ginevra?” he asked, giving her the pretence that Hermione had talked about her. Of course Hermione hadn’t mentioned her often at all since she found out who he was. “It is a very beautiful name.”  
  
“Eh, thank you. But really, Ginny is good. No one calls me Ginevra.”   
  
She seemed a bit uncomfortable in his presence. A little more flattery could help then.  
  
“A shame. Not many people are graced with an intriguing name such as yours.”  
  
Why did she tense? Surely, she couldn’t mistake the flattery for something more? Better get to the chase then.  
  
“Anyway, Hermione has told me that you two have been close friends for a long time?” he asked.  
  
“Yes.”   
  
She was so guarded. She even seemed a little scared. Why?  
  
“Then, perhaps you can help me? I have an idea of what I could give Hermione for Christmas, but I’m not sure how she would react. Since this will be our first Christmas together, I want it to be special and, well, not have her throw my present back at me.” He ran his hand through his hair in a way that he knew made him seem a bit sheepish.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“I was thinking about giving her an engagement ring,” he said the last in a whisper. “But when I asked her about it, she just shrugged. I don’t know if that means she doesn’t want one or if she is pretending to be fine going without one, because she doesn’t want it to be a bother for me to find her a good one. But since you know her so well, I had hoped you would know what her thoughts were about such things?”  
  
Finally, Weasley seemed to relax a little. “Okay. Yeah, I can see Hermione do that. I actually don’t know for sure. She has never talked about her dream wedding or anything like that. She is an independent woman and has always been for equality so … I guess that if you aren’t wearing an engagement ring, she doesn’t feel like she should either. And she has never been big with jewellery.”  
  
He sighed. “I was afraid of that. What do you think I should give her then?”  
  
“Books are always safe with Hermione,” she started slowly. “Although, it’s not very special. Oh, but if you could convince other wizards to free their house-elves, she will—well, it’s already too late to say that ‘she will marry you’—but she will be very happy.”  
  
“House-elves?” he asked, only a little bit surprised. He had heard about her S.P.E.W. activity at Hogwarts, but not that she had been so passionate about it.  
  
“Yes. She claims that it’s slave labour and that they should be paid and get the weekends off and things like that.” Weasley’s face showed exactly how ridiculous she thought that was.  
  
“Well, I can follow her reasoning,” Voldemort thought out loud. “But you don’t know of anything material she wants? Besides books?”  
  
“Sorry, no. She is not really the romantic sort.”  
  
He sighed. “No. And usually I love her for that, but it’s hard around the holidays,” he said, accidentely-on-purpose mentioning the word “love”. Weasley would take it as a positive sign. “Well, thank you, anyway. I guess we’ll see each other around now and then.”  
  
“I guess so.” Weasley fingered her robe. “I should just say goodbye to Althea, then.”  
  
“Right,” he stepped aside and made a gesture for her to walk to the bedroom door.  
  
A couple of minutes later, she had left and he was finally alone with Hermione. Althea didn’t count since she was playing in her own world.   
  
“Sex, now.”  
  
“But my parents can come home at any—”   
  
He shut her up by starting to snog her senseless against the wall. If her parents did come in, they would just have to wait. He was horny.

  
  



	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of thanks to Nerys for betaing.

**Chapter 23**  
  
“Oh, Merlin, this is definitely your child. If this continues, I’ll starve to death in a matter of weeks.”  
  
“Oh, hush, I would never let you die by starvation. And if my unborn child knows what is good for him, he won’t let you starve either.”  
  
Hermione was about to retort, but then, nausea overwhelmed her, and she quickly leaned over the toilet again. Voldemort held back her hair and rubbed her back until she was finished. Then, he gave her a wet towel and allowed her to lean back against him as she shuddered.  
  
“I don’t remember it being this bad with Althea,” she said after a while, her head still against his chest.  
  
“From what I’ve read, this is completely normal,” Voldemort said, completely without compassion.  
  
“That doesn’t help me at all,” she spat.  
  
He sighed. “No, I guess not. Do you think you are able to stand? The council is expecting us in an hour, and it would be good for you to eat something before you have to face them.”  
  
“I don’t want to eat. Just give me some water.”  
  
“If you don’t eat, we’ll just have to repeat yesterday and you don’t want that, do you?”  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together at the memory of her tantrum yesterday when she hadn’t been able to eat anything until the afternoon. Then, she had only done it because Voldemort force-fed her.  
  
“I’ll try eating some crackers,” she muttered and rose with his support.  
  
“Good. You should also try to drink some juice. You’ll need the sugar.”  
  
“Yes, mother,” she mumbled.  
  
Voldemort gave her a stern look. “You do realise, I hope, that your mood swings put me in a very bad mood, and since you have to run to the bathroom when we fuck, I’m very close to take my anger out on some random Muggle?”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “No, I rather let you fuck me while I’m puking.”  
  
He grimaced. “Your morning sickness is very off-putting. I wouldn’t be able to.”  
  
“Well, then just fuck me while I’m sleeping. I mean, you don’t seem to require an active, fully conscious participant since it wasn’t a problem for you to fuck me when I was thoroughly pissed,” she muttered in a low voice and pulled down the package of crackers.   
  
Her mother had bought them for Hermione just before she left five days ago. It had been at the same time her morning sickness had begun, and Helen had promised it would help.  
  
Voldemort opened the fridge and pulled out the orange juice, setting it down on the table with a glass. “You don’t sound like you are okay with that.”  
  
“Of course I’m not happy that you fucked me while I was completely drunk,” she growled. “How would you feel if someone took advantage of you like that?”  
  
“No one would come close enough to do that,” he responded, his voice hard.  
  
“You know, just that is your problem.”  
  
“What problem?”  
  
“You have no compassion whatsoever for the feelings of others. Instead of ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’, you go for: ‘Do unto others what they can’t do unto you’.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Hermione let out a growl and let her head fall down against the table. There was no use. He was impossible.  
  
“Since you don’t have anything else to say, I suggest you drink,” he said, moving the glass closer to her.  
  
Hermione sat up again, and with a glare, she accepted the glass and drank a little at the time. She managed to force down a couple more crackers without having to run to the bathroom again.  
  
“You know I’ll try to kill you again if I find out you have been killing Muggles,” she reminded him when she was done.  
  
“‘Try’ and ‘if’ being the operative words,” Voldemort replied dryly.  
  
“True, but are you willing to risk it? When a woman is pregnant, she has a higher magical level due to the foetus. I may not fail then,” she said calmly.  
  
He came up to her and put two fingers under her chin, tilting her head backwards a bit. “Maybe not. But if you do kill me, Hermione, you’ll be all alone raising two small children without a secure income. For the sake of your children, are you willing to risk that?”  
  
She removed his fingers. “I guess we have reached a status quo then?”  
  
“I guess so. Now, go and brush your teeth before the hearing.”  
  
“You know, it isn’t very good to brush your teeth straight after drinking something sour, like juice,” she muttered, repeating what she had heard her parents say plenty of times before.  
  
“Know-It-All,” Voldemort remarked, rolling his eyes.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way to the council’s meeting chamber. Hermione felt a different kind of nausea overwhelm her. Despite that it was Voldemort’s fault she had to do this, she had in fact done something bad. Everyone knew you shouldn’t sleep with your professor. She had been perfectly aware of that when she slept with him the first time, before she found out who he really was. She had made a mistake and would now face the consequences.  
  
However, and this was another reason for her nausea, she wouldn’t really be punished for her wrongdoings. Not like anyone else would have been if they had done the same thing. No, she had taken advantage of her relationship with Voldemort to escape the worst consequences. She had always looked down on people who used their position and connections to get favours, and now, she was doing the same thing. It didn’t matter that she had to pay Voldemort for it. A payment that would last for the rest of her life. She was still doing something wrong to fix what she had done wrong.  
  
Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from doing it. She just wanted to stay at Oxford so badly!  
  
As if Voldemort could read her thoughts and wanted to really rub her shame in, he leaned closer to her and whispered: “Relax, dear. I have taken care of it; they won’t give you anything more than a warning. Just answer their questions as we have discussed and look humble.”  
  
Hermione swallowed. Well, the main reason why one shouldn’t sleep with a teacher was because you could get unfair advantages in school. It wasn’t like Hermione would ever use Voldemort for that. She highly doubted he would start to give her tips on what would come up on an exam. Therefore, she didn’t _really_ do anything wrong and should be allowed to stay at school. Besides, Voldemort had said that if they were to kick her out, it wouldn’t have anything to do with whom she had slept with, but the fact that she was a young, female Muggle-born. Perhaps this was for the best after all.  
  
Merlin, she was starting to think like Voldemort.  
  
They reached the council’s chambers, and Voldemort followed her inside as “moral support”. In reality, she was sure he just wanted to remind whoever he had blackmailed what would happen if things didn’t go his way.  
  
Despite that Hermione was very uncomfortable, she answered all their questions as truthfully as she could. Since Voldemort had been through the hearing before, he had told her what to say to make sure their stories were similar. After maybe half-an-hour, they were allowed to leave. Hermione could stay at Oxford University and participate in Voldemort’s lectures. However, all her written assignments would be graded by another Professor. Her practical tests were already overseen by two Professors, and the council saw no problem with Voldemort being one of them. The thing that had been discussed the most was her scholarship and her flat. Even though Cox-Trotter reminded them that the flats weren’t used anyway, the council wasn’t all that happy with it. Voldemort finally said that since they were to be married, they could live together in one of the family flats on campus. After a vote, the council agreed to that. They would move in there after the holidays.  
  
The debate on whether or not she should keep her scholarship took much longer time. In the end, they came to a compromise. She would not have to pay the fee for her education, but she would no longer get the extra money she had got before. Thus, Voldemort got what he had wanted: She was economically dependent on him.  
  
She wasn’t at all surprised about the outcome, though. When they were finally back at her flat and had sent the nanny home for the weekend, she was relieved. Voldemort stayed for lunch and made sure she ate properly before he left for a meeting.  
  
Hermione, who felt much better after managing to keep the food down, decided to take Althea to London. She had yet to buy any Christmas gifts, and it was only a week away. Voldemort had already demanded they should give something together to her parents and Althea, but he had left the actual buying to her. He only gave her a purse with money. Hermione also wanted to give something to Harry, Ginny and Ron, like she always had done. Since they were probably going to the Burrow for Boxing Day, she also wanted to buy something for Mrs Weasley.  
  
Althea didn’t mind joining her to Diagon Alley. She ran around the crowd of shoppers and looked in every window. Hermione made sure to always have her in sight and called the almost four years old girl back a couple of times. Snowflakes were modestly falling down from the sky, and for the first time in years, Hermione could actually feel the Christmas spirit. It was fun to shop for gifts.  
  
At Madam Malkin’s, she picked up some beautiful hair ribbons with pearls, which Ginny had talked about wanting to have but couldn’t afford. Hermione had no problem at all spending Voldemort’s money on her friends or Althea. However, she felt very reluctant to spend his money on herself. It just didn’t feel right. She wanted to be able to look after herself economically, even if that meant she wouldn’t be able to buy all the books she wanted until she was finished in school.  
  
It was a good thing Voldemort already had a very big book collection.  
  
Next stop was the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She planned to buy something for both Ron and Harry there and maybe even something small for Althea. However, somehow, she had completely forgotten that Ron was working there and was taken aback when she saw him. He was standing behind the counter, helping a costumer. She felt a bit uncomfortable, seeing him. She hadn’t been alone with him since the first time she had visited the Burrow. She just didn’t know how to be alone with him anymore.  
  
Right then, Ron saw her as well. He waved at her, smiling broadly. Oh, well, how bad could it be? They had been friends for ages, after all.  
  
She walked over to him, and he gave her an one-armed hug. “Hermione! What are you doing here?”  
  
“I thought I would do some Christmas shopping,” she replied, trying to think about something good to ask him. It wasn’t like she could ask what he was doing there; that was quite obvious. “Er, do you have any idea what Harry wants? Or yourself for that matter?”  
  
Not only was she uncomfortable with him, she hadn’t really wanted to run into anyone today. Even though she was feeling a lot better, physically as well as emotionally, she didn’t want to have to answer a lot of questions about how she was feeling. Or worse, what it had been like. Thankfully, Ron seemed to be in a “selling mood” more than a “friend mood”.  
  
“Oh, I know just the thing for Harry. Hold on.” Ron turned towards the back of the store. “George! Oi! Stand here for a moment, would you?”  
  
After giving George a quick smile, Hermione took Althea’s hand and followed Ron through the store. Ron pointed out what he thought Harry would want and then also told her that he would be glad with whatever she bought him. However, if she were to buy him some candy, he would be thrilled.  
  
“Everyone thinks I’ve grown up and don’t like those things anymore,” he admitted.  
  
“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. “Do you have anything here for younger children?”  
  
“Sure, right over here. For Althea, right?” Ron brought her to another shelf, which had all sort of colourful toys. “We have both magical and Muggle toys. Some wizards prefer to give their children toys that can’t run away on their own or explode.”  
  
Althea was squealing in delight as she poked the different toys. Hermione noted which toys Althea seemed to like the most and told Ron she would be back for them later with “Marcus”.  
  
“Oh, that’s right. I heard you two got engaged,” Ron said, his smile becoming a bit forced. “Congratulations.”  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione replied, wanting to turn the conversation to something else. “I still have to buy him something as well. Do you think you have anything?”  
  
When she said it, she realised she hadn’t a clue what she should give Voldemort. The most obvious things were books, but she had no idea what he liked, and even if she did, he would probably already have read it. He didn’t seem to care about accessories, neither in the house nor on himself. She wouldn’t even dream about trying to buy him clothes. Since his only hobbies seemed to be fucking and manipulating people, there really wasn’t a lot to go on. Sure, she was certain he would be thrilled with some sex toys, but they were already spending too much time in the bedroom as it was. She did have to study.  
  
“Eh, what does he like?” Ron asked, right as she thought about sex toys.  
  
Hermione could feel a blush creeping up and tried to hide it by starting to ramble. “He is a little like me, I guess, but the difference is that he already seems to have read all the books there are, and I’ve no idea what to give him in that area. Otherwise … well, the sort of things he likes don’t require a lot of equipment.”  
  
“Not Quidditch?” Ron looked like she had just revealed her fiancé was really Lord Voldemort.  
  
“No, I’ve never heard him talk about it, at least.”  
  
“Eh, okay. Do you think he would like something jokingly?”  
  
Hermione could see the murderous look on Voldemort’s face after someone had given him a Canary Cream. “Not really.”  
  
“And I guess he doesn’t need anything from our Defence Against the Dark Art’s line?”  
  
“No, I think he can manage without,” Hermione answered truthfully.  
  
Ron seemed to hesitate a little. “Well, we do have an adult line as well. Er ... it’s right over there.” He pointed towards the other side of the store where a purple veil was hanging.  
  
“Oh, er, yes, maybe, er …” Hermione blushed again and cursed. She was a woman with a child who was about to get married. Why was she blushing like a schoolgirl?  
  
In all fairness, Ron blushed as well.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. “I may look there later. Ginny also said that your anti-puking pastilles were tested and deemed harmless for pregnant women?”  
  
“Yes, they are perfectly safe. Why do you—” Ron fell silent and looked down to her stomach. “You are pregnant? Again?”  
  
Hermione did not like how accusing Ron sounded. “Yes.”  
  
“That’s why you are getting married?” Ron’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. We want to be together.” However, something in her voice must have been off because Ron looked even more suspicious.  
  
“Is he forcing you? You know, we can help you if you need to escape.” If Ron had only sounded concerned, she might not have become angry. But he actually sounded a bit hopeful.  
  
She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t need to escape, Ron. And even if I did, I would be able to do so myself.”  
  
Ron sneered. “Of course. Like you escaped to Australia the last time?”  
  
Hermione fisted her hands. “Well, no one here seemed very eager to help then.”  
  
“You didn’t really give us the chance! You just disappeared!”  
  
Hermione was about to retort, but Althea pulled her hand. “Mum?”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and counted to ten. She didn’t want to fight with anyone in front of her daughter. “If you excuse me, I have some Christmas shopping to do.” She turned around and left.  
  
Ron didn’t follow. When she glanced back, she saw him helping a young, dark-haired woman. Hermione snatched a box of anti-puking pastilles and then moved towards the other end of the room.  
  
“Mum just has to find something for Dad,” she muttered to her daughter as they stepped into the secluded area at the back of the store. It was not as crowded in there as in the rest of the shop. In fact, the only other person who was there left when he saw her entering. Hermione took another deep breath and tried to ease her anger. Ron was probably still upset because she had found someone. He would always be jealous. Prick.  
  
Looking around quickly, since she didn’t wanted to be found in _here_ by anyone she knew, Hermione decided to go with some massage oil. If she found something better in another store, she could always bring up the massage oil at another time. If she didn’t, she could give him it and promise a full body massage with it. After all, he was rather tense most of the time.  
  
Walking back out again, she paid for her purchases (not to Ron, who suddenly didn’t seem to have eyes for anyone but the dark-haired woman) and left after wishing a Merry Christmas to George.  
  
The rest of the shopping went by smoothly, and they came home just as it started to darken.  
  
“Hello, kitten, good you are home. Dinner is almost ready,” Voldemort said when he saw them and then added something to Althea in Parseltongue.  
  
Althea giggled and hissed something back at him, which made Voldemort smirk. Hermione let them talk with each other and went into the bedroom to put away her purchases. When she came back out, she saw Althea helping Voldemort carry a basket with bread to the kitchen table. Voldemort was carrying something that smelled delicious. Hermione suddenly felt famished.  
  
Hoping she would be able to keep the dinner down, she sat down at the table and started to fill her plate.  
  
“How did the shopping go?” Voldemort asked when they had all taken their fill.  
  
“I bought a new Potions set to give Mum for Christmas,” she told him, “and astronomy equipment for Dad.”  
  
“Potions set?” he asked with a frown; then, he glanced at Althea. “Don’t play with your food, Althea.”  
  
Althea looked like she had been caught red-handed and immediately began to eat properly.  
  
Hermione turned her attention back to Voldemort. “Just because my parents aren’t magical doesn’t mean they can’t make a potion or appreciate the night sky. Of course, Mum can’t do any of the potions that require magic, but she can still brew her own Pepperup Potion and sleeping remedies. She prefers them over their Muggle counterparts. Not so many strange chemicals inside them,” Hermione explained.  
  
“I see,” he said, still frowning. “How much of your magical secrets have you told your parents?”  
  
“I don’t see them as secrets,” she answered, cutting up the curry chicken on her plate. “Just because they can’t do all of it themselves doesn’t mean they are uninterested. Mum has always been happy to help me with my homework, and Dad has read a couple of my schoolbooks. They have always wanted to be a part of my life.”  
  
Voldemort chewed slowly and swallowed before he answered. “You don’t understand the dangers of it?”  
  
She scowled. “What danger? They are my parents! It’s not like they would sell me or the contents of my books to the highest bidder.”  
  
“There are more ways than one for them to betray you, Hermione,” he said casually, reaching for his water glass.  
  
“They would never betray me. Sure, we have our disagreements, but they are my parents.”  
  
“I fail to see how that would be important.”  
  
“Shocker,” she muttered, but when he gave her a questioning look, she added: “Do you mean you would give Althea away to someone if the price were right?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered after a moment’s hesitation.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You could!”  
  
He sighed. “In theory, yes. But it’s not like anyone could offer that much.”  
  
Hermione gaped. “What is ‘that much’?”  
  
“I’m not even sure about that,” he said after a moment of thought. “Don’t worry, Hermione, she is my blood as well. If you don’t believe me when I say I actually like the girl, then you should at least believe that I don’t want my blood going astray.”  
  
That was reassuring at least, and Hermione let it drop, looking at the girl who was watching them with her dark eyes. Her hand went to her stomach where yet another child lay.  
  
“How many children do you want?” she asked after a while.  
  
“I believe two will be quite enough,” he answered, finishing his dish. “Do you want more to eat?”  
  
“Just a little,” Hermione said and held out her plate.  
  
“Mum?” Althea asked while Hermione was finishing her second portion.  
  
“Yes, dear?” Hermione answered, swallowing the last of her chicken.  
  
“Can you show me the pregnant?”  
  
Hermione blinked. Not only was it one of the longest sentences she had heard her daughter say in English, it also showed that Althea was far more aware of her surroundings than Hermione had thought. She looked at Voldemort.  
  
“Ah, yes, I explained to her what pregnant is,” he said.  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“The truth. You have a little baby growing inside your stomach,” he answered, rising from his seat and starting to spell the dishes clean.  
  
Hermione snorted. “That was all you said?”  
  
“Pretty much,” he answered vaguely.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at him and then turned to her daughter again. “It’s inside here,” she said, pulling up her shirt a bit and patting her stomach.  
  
Althea jumped down from her chair and placed her hand next to Hermione’s. Her whole face wrinkled.  
  
“Can’t I see it?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“No, not yet, sweetie,” Hermione answered softly and stroked her daughter’s hair. “You see, it takes nine months for the baby to get ready for the outside world. Until then, I keep it safe in here.”  
  
Althea poked her finger inside Hermione’s navel. Hermione squealed since it tickled, and she took her daughter’s hand away. Althea watched her questioningly.  
  
“That tickles,” Hermione replied and poked her daughter’s stomach to illustrate.  
  
Althea giggled and took a step back, her eyes shining with anticipation. Hermione moved from the chair, trying to catch the little girl and tickle her more. With a delighted squeal, Althea ran towards the lounging area, Hermione hunting after her. They landed on the sofa, and Hermione tickled the child mercilessly until Althea was crying of laughter. Hermione let go of her after a while and kissed her forehead. Althea smiled, and as Hermione withdrew to sit up, the girl clapped her arms around her neck, hugging her. Hermione smiled into her daughter’s hair and inhaled the smell of her.  
  
They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, until Althea withdrew with yawn.  
  
“Do you want to go to sleep?” Hermione asked.  
  
The girl nodded in response.  
  
About an hour later, she had got Althea into bed.  
  
“Mummy, is Dad really going to give me away?” Althea asked, sounding very uncertain.  
  
“No, of course not, honey!” Hermione said firmly, stroking her daughter’s hair.  
  
“But he said so,” Althea remarked.  
  
“Well, he won’t. I would never let him. You are my daughter, and family is supposed to stay together, okay?” Hermione said, looking Althea in the eyes to make sure her daughter understood.  
  
Althea smiled and pulled her mother down in a hug. “Okay. Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight, my love,” Hermione kissed Althea’s forehead and then unlit the lamp with a wave of her wand. She felt awfully smug. Althea had turned to her for reassurance instead of Voldemort.   
  
She closed the door to the bedroom carefully. She felt ridiculously happy, and she suddenly realised how long ago it had been since she had felt like that. Had she ever felt like that? It was always one thing or another getting in the way. If it weren’t a war, then it was an unwanted pregnancy and isolation. When that wasn’t the case, there were evil wizards chasing her.  
  
“You know, that looked rather fun.” Voldemort came up behind her as she stood near the door, thinking. His hands came in under her shirt, and he kissed her neck. “Perhaps I should chase you around for a little while … naked.”  
  
Hermione purred and leaned back against his tall frame. Okay, so maybe she didn’t mind it when this particular wizard chased her. She allowed him to undress her, enjoying the pleasuring touch of his hands. When they were both completely naked, she broke free from his arms.  
  
With a smile on her face, she stepped backwards. “You’ll have to catch me.”  
  
She ran to the kitchen table with him following her. She stopped at the opposite side of it, looking at him. He was pausing at the other end, waiting for her to choose which side she would run to. She smiled, faking left then trying to go right. He saw through her bluff easily, though, and they looked at each other, willing the other to take the first step. She couldn’t stop grinning, and he had a predatory glimmer in his eyes. His cock was already semi-erect.  
  
When he noted that she was busy staring at his cock, he leaped up on the table, almost catching her. She managed to get away in the last second, running to the coffee table instead where the dance was repeated.  
  
“I think we do need a bigger flat,” she remarked huskily.  
  
“Yes, this is hardly a challenge,” he agreed and leaped over the table.  
  
Since the coffee table was much smaller than the kitchen table, he managed to catch her. Before he had time to secure her, however, she had wrenched herself free and ran to the other side of the armchairs.  
  
He chuckled. “I don’t think it will be much of a challenge in a bigger flat either, though. I can smell you from a mile away, kitten.”  
  
She pressed her tights together, smirking back. Of course, she was dripping wet. He was also fully erect now. With a jump across the floor, he managed to grab her arm before she could run to the other side of the armchairs. He held her steady, and no matter how much she wriggled, she couldn’t come loose. Her heart was beating rapidly from adrenaline and arousal. He pulled her towards him and pressed his body against hers.  
  
“Are you done running, Hermione?” he whispered into her ear.  
  
“Merlin, yes,” she whispered, and their mouths met in a searing kiss.  
  
His hand travelled over her back and under her arse. She whimpered as he stuck two fingers inside of her cunt and pressed his thumb against her clit. She scratched against his back, and before she knew it, he had her turned around, hanging over the arm of the armchair. Twisting her head, she managed to get a glimpse of his cock before he pushed it inside her from behind. She let out a cry of pleasure. It felt even better to have him inside her than it felt when he had touched her. It felt like he was touching her very being.  
  
Fast and hard, he drilled into her. Hermione was just holding on and trying not to lose her footing. It didn’t take long until they both climaxed forcefully. She hung there for a while, panting as he stood above her with his hands on her back. After a while, he pulled her up and kissed her neck again. Hermione purred once more, stroking his face softly before giving in to her weak legs and falling down in the armchair. Voldemort stood, looking down at her with an unreadable face. After a moment, he gave her his hand and dragged them both to the sofa where they lay down, his bigger body covering hers.  
  
It was probably the first time anyone felt happiness in the arms of Lord Voldemort.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Nerys for betaing.

**Chapter 24**  
  
The last week before Christmas disappeared like a spell. Voldemort had a ton of finals to grade, and Hermione, who was neurotic about falling behind in school, was studying most of the time. That is when she wasn’t leaning over the toilet because of her pregnancy.  
  
The morning of Christmas Eve, they took a Portkey to Australia at five a.m., arriving at three in the afternoon, local time. They ate dinner, and Voldemort was introduced to the Grangers’ Christmas Eve tradition: watching _Die Hard_. Malcolm and Hermione seemed the most interested in it. Helen was watching with half an eye on the telly while laying a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table. Voldemort wasn’t sure if he liked the motion picture but decided it was better than having to talk to his in-laws.  
  
Christmas Day started with a morning fuck after Althea had run down to her grandparents. Afterwards, they went down to the Christmas tree standing in the living room. Breakfast was eaten at the coffee table, while they watched Althea open the presents with a little help from her grandfather. When all her gifts were open, she looked at each of them before she picked up the green teddy-snake her father had given her. Hissing in Parseltongue to herself, she started to run up and down the stairs.  
  
“ _Koka flew over the city and aimed at the building. PANG! It exploded_.”   
  
Voldemort chuckled when he heard it but didn’t care to translate.  
  
Voldemort picked up his gift from the Grangers first. It was a nice chess set, which Voldemort doubted he would ever use, but he thanked them nonetheless. However, his intention to just leave it in his closet at home was destroyed when Malcolm wanted them to play later. Voldemort accepted, thinking that at least it would make time seem to pass somewhat quicker.  
  
Hermione’s gift to him was a bit more fun, or rather, the suggestion she whispered in his ear as he opened it was. He gave her a kiss and then his gift to her. He had thought about it long and hard, until he had finally decided he wanted to give her jewellery.  
  
Hermione gasped when she saw the contents of the box. Inside it lay a jewellery set in gold: a necklace with a ruby hanging in the middle, a bracelet with three small rubies and a ring with one ruby framed with two diamonds.  
  
“They have an anti-theft ward around them so only you can remove them. They will also be able to protect you from lighter hexes and curses and will notify me if someone uses magic on you. It can also be activated as a Portkey if you need it to.”  
  
Tears started to fill her eyes, and she hugged him, whispering her thanks.  
  
“It almost looks like an engagement ring,” Helen noted when Hermione showed her the contents of the box.  
  
Voldemort shrugged. “It can be used as such, I guess, but it’s up to Hermione. I just wanted her to have a set of jewellery, which is fancy but not over the top. You never know what sort of parties you can get invited to on short notice.”  
  
Hermione kissed him again, and Voldemort wondered how long it would take until he could fuck her again. As it turned out, he had to wait until everyone had gone to bed, but then, he made sure to do it thoroughly since one never knew when he would have the chance to do it again.  
  
On Boxing Day, they slept in for as long as they could. It was already ten when they finally made their way down to eat breakfast. Althea had been up for several hours by then and would undoubtedly have trouble adjusting to British time again. The girl seemed utterly confused when they took a Portkey to England, and Hermione told her it was morning again. Thankfully, all the playing had made Althea tired, and she was able to take a nap when she came home. Hopefully that would make her alert enough when they later went to the Weasleys.  
  
Hermione and Voldemort had also started to take a nap, but Voldemort woke up not even half an hour later by an owl knocking at the window. He quickly went to the window and opened it. The owl was carrying a book. He paid the owl, and it flew away again. It was the book he had ordered two weeks ago, which was written by the German author who knew about “Legilimency through touch”.  
  
Voldemort’s German was a bit rusty. He would have to read it with a dictionary if he wanted to understand it correctly, and he didn’t have time until later. Instead, he hid the book underneath the couch for now. If Hermione knew German, he didn’t want her to start reading it before he had a chance to.  
  
Just a few minutes later, Hermione came out of the bedroom, too, yawning. “Couldn’t sleep?”  
  
“No,” he simply said, smiling. “Did I wake you up?”  
  
She yawned again. “No, I just wasn’t that tired I guess. Then, you weren’t there so … What time is it?”  
  
“Early enough for a shag,” he said, patting the pillow next to him on the couch.  
  
For a moment, Hermione looked like she was about to decline, but then, she seemed to remember that she had promised him sex whenever he wanted it. He pulled off his T-shirt and threw it onto the armchair. Hermione sighed and removed her shirt, jeans and underwear before straddling his lap. He let his hands wander over her back.  
  
“Are you starting to feel like this is a chore, Hermione?” he wondered, mumbling and unhooking her bra.  
  
Of course, the moment their skin had come in contact, Hermione let out a pleasuring sigh. “Not a chore. I’m just tired and feeling a bit nauseated.”  
  
“Are you going to throw up?” he asked, his hand pausing at her waist.  
  
“No, I don’t think so.”  
  
“Good.” He pulled her against his chest and kissed her throat. “When you feel like it is a chore, let me know and I’ll spice it up.”  
  
“Do I want to know how?” she wondered, tilting her head and allowing him to nibble at her most sensitive spots.  
  
“I won’t tell you.”  
  
“Of course not,” she muttered. Then, during the next thirty minutes, she didn’t say anything more than an occasional “yes, oh, dear, oh, please, yes”.  
  
They took a shower before getting dressed and waking Althea.  
  
“You won’t do anything to them, right?” Hermione asked as she helped Althea button up the new, green dress she had got from her grandparents.  
  
“Not unless they give me a reason to,” he answered honestly.   
  
He would make sure the Weasleys approved of him for the moment. If they didn’t, they would nag to Hermione about it, and then, Hermione would be upset and annoying.  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“What do you want, a pinkie-swear?” he asked with a snort.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you have tried to kill them all on several occasions.”  
  
“True. However, now I’m more in the mood of discovering whether Mrs Weasley’s cooking is as good as they say. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
“Fine. Let’s go.”  
  
Voldemort took their daughter, and Hermione took his arm, Apparating them to the Burrow. Voldemort was not impressed by the house. Either they had a bad sense of aesthetics or they were just bad at magic. Either way, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live there. He didn’t mind small, but he wanted it clean and in order. This was just … chaotic.  
  
“Try not to talk about money,” Hermione muttered as they came into the garden.  
  
“I do have excellent people skills, Hermione. When I care to use it,” he added when she gave him a look of disbelief.  
  
She didn’t comment because right then, the front door flew open, and Ginny Weasley came running out.   
  
“You came! And thank you so much for your Christmas gift! I love them.”  
  
The two girls hugged, and Voldemort put Althea down on the ground. The little girl ran to Ginny and hugged her as well.  
  
“I hope we aren’t too early?” Hermione asked as they stepped into the house.  
  
“No, not at all. Most of us have been staying here. Only Bill and Fleur went home since they didn’t want to disturb us with the baby.”  
  
“Oh, Fleur has given birth?”  
  
“I didn’t say that? Sorry, yes, Dominique is just three weeks old, though.”  
  
As the two girls rambled about babies, Voldemort looked around the hallway and into the living room where most of the family seemed to have gathered. Potter was sitting right next to his sidekick, talking in low voices about something. When the dark-haired boy spotted him, he rose with a smile on his face.  
  
“Professor Foster,” Potter said and shook his hand. “Happy you could make it.”  
  
“Please, call me Marcus,” Voldemort said graciously.  
  
Hermione came up, gave Harry a hug and then took Voldemort’s hand. “Hi, everyone. This is my fiancé, Marcus Foster.”  
  
Arthur and Percy Weasley were the first ones to stand up and greet him as Hermione steered them down to the unoccupied chairs by the fire. George Weasley introduced himself and his girlfriend Angelina, and then, they shook hands with Charlie Weasley. By then, Voldemort noted that the youngest brother, Ron, had disappeared from the room. Hermione seemed to have noticed this as well. She was looking rather grimly into the kitchen for a moment but then changed her expression to a somewhat forced smile when the plump Mrs Weasley came out to greet them as well.  
  
“Oh, I’m so happy you could make it,” she said with a big smile.   
  
However, Voldemort could see that she wasn’t perfectly honest. Perhaps she had hoped to see her youngest son settling down with Hermione? Voldemort was very happy to have destroyed her plans.  
  
“We’re happy to be here,” Voldemort lied with an equally big smile. “This is for you, for allowing us over.”  
  
Voldemort withdrew the package he had shrunken in his pocket and returned it to normal size before handing it to the matriarch.  
  
“Oh, dear Merlin, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”  
  
Right, social protocol. How utterly boring.  
  
“Please, it’s my pleasure,” Voldemort said. “Just a small token of our appreciation. Hermione has told me so much about you and how you are her second family.”  
  
Mrs Weasley blushed and looked at Hermione. “Aren’t you a dear. Well, please sit down. I’ll have the brunch ready in a little bit.”  
  
Voldemort had hoped to just be able to sink back in the chair and observe the others interacting, but the Weasleys’ oldest son arrived with his family, and more greetings were exchanged. After that, Andromeda Tonks came in with her grandson as well. The room became very crowded, and Voldemort felt a desperate need to wash his hands after shaking theirs.  
  
While Hermione talked with Potter and his fiancée, Voldemort found himself in a conversation with Arthur and Percy. He didn’t talk as much as he listened to the two others. They had surprisingly interesting things to say about what was going on at the Ministry, and Voldemort decided his decision to set off on the right foot with the Weasleys was a good one.  
  
“Brunch is ready!” Mrs Weasley called out after about half an hour.  
  
Voldemort and Hermione were the last ones to make it to the table and thus were placed at the short end. He placed Althea between himself and Hermione. It was crowded, but it would have to work. Next to him, at the long side of the table, sat Potter. The table was so full of different dishes that Voldemort feared another plate would break it. Mrs Weasley must have feared this as well because she had her two youngest children walking around the table, taking notes on what everyone would like to drink so they didn’t have to put carafes on the table. After that, they disappeared to a room in the back and levitated full glasses to the table.  
  
Ron Weasley gave Hermione and Voldemort their glasses but didn’t even stop to greet them as he placed the drinks in front of them. Instead, he seemed to hurry away to give the others their drinks before sitting down, two places down the long side of the table. Voldemort looked from him to Hermione. Her lips were tightly pressed together. Had they had a disagreement he hadn’t heard about? Oh, well, he would, no doubt, find out later.  
  
He filled up his plate with all sorts of food: Roasted turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, stuffing and some dishes he didn’t even recognise. He discreetly cast a spell to see if any of the food was poisoned, but it wasn’t. Not that he had found it likely. No one at the table seemed to be about to poison him, but you never knew.  
  
He began eating and watched the others as they talked and ate. After a short moment, he noted that Hermione hadn’t begun eating yet. Instead, she was trying to make Althea eat some turkey. The girl, however, was determined in keeping her mouth shut.  
  
Leaning closer to his daughter, he asked in English: “Why aren’t you eating?”  
  
Althea looked up at him. “I don’t want to.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”  
  
“I don’t want to!” she repeated, crossing her arms.  
  
“Come on, Althea, you need to eat,” Hermione said with a sigh, holding up the fork.  
  
“No!”  
  
“Althea, do as your mother says.”  
  
Instead of responding, Althea climbed down from her seat and ran away before Voldemort had a chance to stop her. He was about to get up and bring her back, but Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I’ll get her,” she said, starting to look tired.  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”  
  
She squeezed his shoulder and bent towards him. “This is not the place for you to lose your temper. Althea is just being defiant.”  
  
“Very well,” he agreed and turned back.   
  
When Hermione left, Voldemort saw Ron looking strangely after her. He frowned. The boy looked like he was waiting for something.  
  
“So, how was Australia?” Potter broke into his line of thoughts.  
  
Voldemort put on his friendliest face. “Hot. It’s rather hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you could just as well lie on the beach. Althea liked it, though.”  
  
“I can imagine.” Potter was looking rather wishful. “I can’t wait to start my own family.”  
  
Voldemort saw that Ginny, who was sitting next to her fiancé, choked a little on her pudding. Potter glanced at her, but she pretended like nothing had happened and continued to talk with her brother, Charlie. Voldemort hid his smile as he looked at the redhead. It seemed like Potter would get his wish granted sooner than he had anticipated. The look on Ginny’s face clearly said that she had a huge secret involving their family to share.   
  
Potter, always dim-witted, didn’t notice the woman’s body language and just ate more of his pigs in a blanket.  
  
“Yes, families are nice,” Voldemort said, amused, “especially for those of us who never really had one.”  
  
Potter looked at him questioningly.  
  
“Sorry. Although, you can’t be very surprised any longer that people are aware of your family history,” Voldemort remarked in a careful tone.  
  
Potter sighed. “No, I’m more surprised when they don’t. But you had your father, right?”  
  
“Yes. However, most of the time, he behaved more like a teacher than a father.” Voldemort grimaced. “Don’t mean to bring you down with my broken childhood, though. I have a new family now. One that I’m very happy with. I guess it’s true what they say: The family that counts is the one you create yourself.”  
  
Potter nodded in understanding. Voldemort cheered of triumph on the inside. As long as Potter found Marcus Foster a believable persona, he would never even suspect that it wasn’t true. Marcus wasn’t the complete opposite from his true self. That would be too hard to pull off. But he made the changes from his true character different enough so that no one would see a connection. Manipulation was a fine art.  
  
Right then, Hermione came back, looking a bit grim. He frowned.  
  
“Althea is sulking for some reason,” she muttered as she sat down. “I told her she can come down when she is hungry.”  
  
Voldemort frowned. Why was Althea behaving like that all of a sudden? He would have to ask when they came home. Perhaps she was just entering the defiant age. He had read about it in the parenting-teaching books Hermione had. Not so much because he needed advice, but because he wanted to know what was socially acceptable. Correcting children in front of strangers was, but not screaming at them. Hence, he decided to let Althea be for now, so there wouldn’t be a scene.  
  
As Hermione began to eat, he noticed that Ron was once again glancing at her. The redhead had the same air around him as someone who was waiting for something to happen. Voldemort ate slowly as he regarded the boy. Was he waiting for eye contact with Hermione?  
  
Just as Hermione reached for her glass with water, a small glint of guilt showed in Ron’s eyes. If Voldemort hadn’t been watching him, he would have missed it all, because right after that, Ron looked away. He didn’t want to see what was about to happen. Voldemort had seen the same look before in his Death Eaters. Just after they had fired the Killing Curse, so many looked in the other direction just before its impact. Because they were cowards, unable to see their deed being carried out.  
  
Right before the glass reached Hermione’s mouth, Voldemort slapped it out of her hand. Its contents spilled out over her robe as the glass fell down on the ground with a loud crash.  
  
All conversation in the room stopped. Voldemort stared at Ron who looked about ready to panic. Voldemort could feel all eyes on him.  
  
“What,” he began slowly, “did you put in her glass, boy?”  
  
“I-I don’t know what you are t-talking about,” Ron stuttered. It was obvious that he was lying.  
  
Voldemort reached for his wand, but Hermione gripped his hand, hard.  
  
“Ron?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Did you put something in my glass?”  
  
He mumbled something and looked down.  
  
“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Mrs Weasley stood up, staring at her son in shock. It seemed it was true that a mother always knew when her children were lying. “What have you done?”  
  
Then again, it was clear as day that the boy was guilty of something. Voldemort had a very hard time controlling his fury. If Hermione hadn’t been keeping such a tight grip on his hand, he would probably have attacked the boy, which would have made him reveal his identity to everyone in the room. He couldn’t have that. No, he would have to wait until everyone had left. Or wait and see what the others discovered. However, he doubted those imbeciles would be able to find something useful.  
  
Arthur Weasley, who had been sitting next to his son, looked at something Voldemort couldn’t see. However, it must have been revealing because, the next moment, Arthur fished up a bottle from inside Ron’s robe. He stared at the bottle.  
  
“What is the meaning of this, Ronald?” Arthur said in a very grave voice.  
  
Molly went over to him. Her hand flew up to her mouth when she saw the bottle. Voldemort started to feel very annoyed. What had the boy tried to do?  
  
The oldest son, Bill, who was sitting next to Arthur, glanced at the bottle as well.  
  
“It’s an abortion potion,” he said with surprise in his voice.  
  
A collective gasp was heard around the table. Voldemort could no longer sit by and do nothing. While everyone else was focused on the boy, he carefully released his wandhand from Hermione’s tight grip and held her hand in his left instead. A quick flick with the wand and a soundless spell was cast, freezing everyone but him in place. He looked around carefully, making sure everyone had been caught inside the spell. Time Freezing Magic was difficult to master, and things could easily go wrong.  
  
Then again, Voldemort was the most powerful wizard alive, and of course, his spell was a success. No one moved, and he could remove his hand from Hermione’s, making sure he remembered the exact posture he’d sat in so he could return to it when he ended the spell.  
  
Rising, he stretched. He felt so much calmer now when he was actually doing something. He would find out exactly what motivated the boy so he would be able to stop him in the future. He would also find out the most effective way to punish the boy for what he had done. Although, the punishment would have to wait until they weren’t surrounded by Order members.  
  
Voldemort turned towards the table with a wishful expression. It would have been so easy to kill them all right away. Potter was sitting with a frown on his forehead and a worried expression in his frozen eyes. Just two small words and the boy would never bother him again.  
  
But the only reason he would have to kill them was because they had angered him in the past. That was unnecessary, quite unnecessary. Since they didn’t know who he was, they weren’t a danger to him anymore. Instead, they would be more useful to him alive. The fact that Hermione would not fuck him if he did kill her friends might have something to do with his decision as well.   
  
He walked around the table and used his wand to float Ron away from his seat. Once the boy was floating in front of him, he used Legilimency to enter his mind.  
  
He saw through Ron’s eyes how the boy poured the abortion potion into Hermione’s glass before bringing it out to her. But why had he done it? Voldemort couldn’t detect any hate against Hermione coming from Ron. Instead, the boy seemed to think it was for the best because … because …  
  
Voldemort searched in the boy’s mind for the answer, but something was blocking him. It wasn’t the boy. In his frozen state, he could not use Occlumency. But even if he had been aware, his attempts would have been laughable judging by the memories the boy had of experiencing it. No, there was stronger magic at play here.  
  
Ron’s brain reeked of the same magic Hermione’s brain had done. And just like then, Voldemort had no idea what it was.  
  
With a hiss of anger, he broke the connection to the boy’s brain after finding out his biggest fear were spiders. The boy had tried to kill his unborn child, and someone else was behind it. Voldemort suspected it was the same someone who had wanted Hermione to have an abortion at St. Mungo’s. But who was it? And why? What would they gain from that? Or prevent?  
  
He would have to investigate when he was alone. Now he had to unfreeze time and let the others figure out that Ron hadn’t come up with this plan. The boy would, no doubt, need to stay a long time in St. Mungo’s before they managed to break the complicated spell he was under. Despite his worry and anger, Voldemort smirked. He would make sure that visit took an extra long time.  
  
He put the boy’s body back and went to his own place. However, before he sat down, his eyes fell on Hermione. Perhaps she needed a small sign that he had done something so she wouldn’t continue to worry that he would lose his temper.  
  
His smirk widened. Yes. A sign that he had been busy.  
  
He sat down in his seat again and flicked his wand at Hermione. She was wearing a knee-length, black skirt, and he had just removed her knickers. Since they were sitting with their legs under the table, he lifted up her skirt and moved his hand up to her cunt. Then he made sure he was sitting almost as he had before and ended the spell that had the other people frozen in time.  
  
Hermione’s eyes snapped directly to his in shock. He curved his lips into a quick reassuring smile and curved his fingers against her sex. She pushed his hand away.  
  
“Why would you give Hermione an abortion potion, Ron?” Potter had risen only a moment after he had become unfrozen.  
  
Ron only muttered something no one could hear. Molly, Arthur and Bill all started to argue with Ron, asking him what he could possibly hope to achieve.  
  
Voldemort leaned closer to Hermione. “Mind-control.”  
  
“Are you sure?” she whispered back.  
  
He nodded.  
  
Hermione’s expression darkened. No doubt was she thinking about the same thing as he did. First, some mysterious Healer had tried to talk her into having an abortion, and now, one of her closest friends suddenly tried to slip an abortion potion into her drink? Someone didn’t want them to have another child. Voldemort was very interested in finding out whom and why.  
  
When the angry voices became so loud no one could hear the other, Potter took control over the situation.  
  
“Everyone, shut up!”  
  
It became quiet. Voldemort looked at Potter, ready to manipulate the situation if needed.  
  
“If we are to sort this out, we have to remain rational. So if everyone but Bill, Arthur, Hermione and Marcus would leave ... for now,” he quickly added when Mrs Weasley began to object, “then we will try to find out and understand what happened. Please.”  
  
As Ginny passed Voldemort, he gripped her shoulder. She looked up at him, very pale.  
  
“Could you look after Althea, please?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
She nodded and then hurried out. Why had she seemed so frightened? Ignoring it for now, Voldemort looked at Potter walking over to where Bill was standing next to Ron. The youngest brother was still sitting motionless at the table. Ron wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes but stared down at his own feet. Once the room was somewhat empty, Voldemort rose and helped Hermione up. Her expression had darkened a lot, but she didn’t look at Ron. Instead, she was looking around the room as if she were expecting someone else to jump out at any moment.  
  
“Okay, first off, Marcus.” Potter turned to him. “What made you think Ron had put anything in Hermione’s glass?”  
  
Voldemort had already come up with a lie he hoped would suffice. “I knew that Hermione considers Ron one of her oldest and closest friends, so when we came in, I was expecting him to greet us. But he didn’t look happy at all with seeing her and didn’t even say hello. I thought it was peculiar so I guess I just kept looking at him.”  
  
He looked down at the red-haired boy who was still staring at the table.  
  
“When I saw him serving us drinks, I noticed that he was being … nervous. Especially when he handed over the drink to Hermione. I started to think that maybe he had a bit too tender feelings for her, and I can be a little bit jealous sometimes.”  
  
Hermione coughed. He ignored her.  
  
“I saw that he kept glancing at her and especially at her drink. When she was about to drink, I saw that he, for some reason, looked ashamed and … well, I’ve had a lot of disciplinary talks at Oxford and that was the same look students get when they know they have done something wrong but don’t want to admit it. Thus, I acted.”  
  
Potter regarded him for a while and then looked at Bill. “How can we be sure that it was Hermione’s glass he spiked? If he spiked it at all?”  
  
“That should be easy enough to determine,” Bill said and brought out his wand.   
  
Voldemort tensed, ready to cast a shielding spell if Bill was about to curse Hermione.  
  
“ _Accio Abortion Potion!_ ” he called.  
  
The liquid, that had fallen on Hermione’s clothes and the floor, flew up in the air.  
  
Potter and Arthur’s expressions were grim. Arthur sat down next to his son, gripping his hand.  
  
“Ron, why would you do it?”  
  
Ron mumbled something again, his shoulder tensing.  
  
“What did you say?” Potter asked, trying to sound neutral.   
  
Voldemort had to admit that the annoying, black-haired boy seemed to have grown up. At least, he appeared to have learned to keep his head cool.  
  
“I was only trying to do what was best, okay?” Ron retorted and finally looked up, turning so he could watch Hermione. “You said you were angry that no one offered to help you the last time this happened. Well, this time, I tried to help.”  
  
Hermione, who was still standing next to Voldemort, gaped. Voldemort could see that she was about to attack the boy, and even though he would have found that highly amusing, now was not the time. Instead, he gripped her shoulder and kept her still as she tried to reach the redhead.  
  
“I wanted you to stand by my side as I raised the child, not help me get rid of it!” she said in a very loud voice.  
  
Ron’s face was firm. “Well, it had to be done.”  
  
Hermione blinked, and Voldemort was quite surprised when she grabbed his arm. “Marcus! That’s exactly what she said.”  
  
It didn’t take Voldemort long to follow what she was trying to do: Make them realise that Ron wasn’t the true offender. She seemed to have remembered what Voldemort had said about mind-control.  
  
“Are you sure?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.  
  
“Yes. And what are the odds of two people trying to make me have an abortion in just a few weeks’ time?”  
  
Potter took a step closer to them. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Voldemort did not want Potter to start an investigation about why someone wanted their second child to die. He would have to turn the blame towards someone else. Someone who hated Hermione, would like to see her suffer and had the magical skills possible to brainwash someone.  
  
“Draco Malfoy,” he said, very glad that he had already taken care of Draco himself. No one would find him, and he was the perfect scapegoat. “When Hermione was in St. Mungo’s, a nurse tried to talk her into having an abortion. Said a bunch of nasty things.”  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. “I got the feeling she was under the Imperius Curse or some other form of mind-control, but she left before I had a chance to find out.”  
  
Potter’s face darkened, but Arthur and Bill only frowned.  
  
“Why would Draco Malfoy do something like that?” Arthur asked.  
  
“He was the one who kidnapped her,” Voldemort said bitterly.  
  
“Yes, but why an abortion?” Bill asked, his frown deepening.  
  
Hermione hugged herself, and Voldemort laid a protective arm around her. He looked at the two others gravely.   
  
“Because it will hurt her,” he said in an end-of-discussion sort of tone. It wasn’t like they had to give a reason for everything, and hopefully, the troubled look on Hermione’s face would stop them from asking more questions.  
  
“But the only way to determine if that is the case is to investigate Ron’s mind. Does anyone of you know Legilimency?” Voldemort continued. He would not admit to knowing Legilimency. It wasn’t a common skill and only a handful were a master at it like he was. It would be too risky to show them what he could do.  
  
“I know a little,” Bill said and took a step towards his brother.   
  
However, as he did that, Ron jumped up from his seat and made an attempt to run past them. Potter hit him in the back with a Stunner, and the boy fell to the ground.  
  
“Why did he try to do that?” Arthur asked, his eyes wide in surprise as he bent down and turned his son over, making sure he was unharmed.  
  
Voldemort started to wonder if he were the only one who could put two and two together. Thankfully, Potter seemed to have learned a thing or two in his Auror training.  
  
“I can think of two reasons,” Potter said, looking very uneasy. “Either he did try to poison Hermione and didn’t want us to know why, or his mind has been tampered with. It’s usual that the one who has done the tampering also makes sure that the subject will flee if someone tries to read his mind.”  
  
Voldemort had to force himself not to snort. “Mind-reading”. Clearly the boy wasn’t even half as clever as others thought.  
  
“Either way, he probably needs to be looked at by a professional,” Potter continued. “No offence, Bill.”  
  
“Oh, none taken,” Bill said with a shrug. “I think both Ron and I will feel much better if I haven’t been inside his mind. There are some things you don’t want your siblings to know.”  
  
Potter nodded. “Arthur, do you think you can call the Auror Legilimency Specialist? Someone should be at the office at this time.”  
  
“Of course,” Arthur said and hurried towards the fire that was burning at the other end of the room.  
  
“Bill, can you stay here with Ron while I talk to Hermione and Marcus in private?” Potter asked.  
  
Bill just nodded, looking at his younger brother with a frown of worry on his face.  
  
Voldemort steered Hermione after Potter up the stairs and into a bedroom. After casting an eye on the decoration, Voldemort was fairly certain it had been Ginevra’s old bedroom. Two beds were placed next to each other. He sat down on the steadier looking of the two and pulled Hermione down next to him. Potter sat down on the opposite one.  
  
Lifting his glasses, Potter rubbed his eyes for a moment. Probably to give himself some time to think. Voldemort held Hermione’s hand and rubbed it slowly in the appearance of calming her down.  
  
“Do you want to press charges against Ron?” Potter finally asked.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “If he has been used by Malfoy, I can’t blame him for his act.”  
  
Potter seemed relieved. “Okay. And don’t worry, we’ll capture Malfoy no matter what.”  
  
Hermione only nodded.  
  
“Harry!” Arthur’s voice was heard from below.  
  
Potter stood up. “Do you want to stay here for a little while? I’m guessing things will be rather hectic downstairs.”  
  
Voldemort would rather they left altogether but sensed that Potter wanted to talk more and decided to use it to get the boy on his side. Thus, he nodded.  
  
Once the door had closed behind the black-haired, young man, Hermione turned to Voldemort. Worry was very clear in her expression.  
  
“How do you know someone used mind-control on him?”  
  
“I saw that his mind had been tampered with. It was the same sort of magic as I saw in yours,” he said tiredly. “We have to be careful.”  
  
Hermione nodded. She was grasping his hand hard in her own. “This mind-control thing, is it like some Muggle hypnothists claim to do: Put orders in the subconscious?”  
  
“Close,” he admitted. “But much harder to do and harder to break.”  
  
“Can Ron snap out of it himself?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Could you help him?” Hermione was looking hopeful.  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “If I had a week or two, then yes. But even if I wanted to, and I don’t, it would be impossible to explain to them why I can help. There are others that can help him.”  
  
“But why does it have to take so long?” she complained.  
  
“Because the magic in his mind prevented me to see all his memories. The mind is complex, but if you find one memory, you can often find a train of thoughts connected to that memory. For example, if you focus on your grandmother you can, in your mind, see different things that have happened with your grandmother; how you played games together or how she read stories to you when you were young. When I entered Ron’s mind, I saw that he put the potion in your glass. I saw how he bought the potion. I saw the argument between you and him, which led to his idea that you might be better off without a second child.” He paused. “How come you didn’t tell me about the argument?”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “Ron and I fight sometimes. There’s nothing more to it.”  
  
Voldemort did not like the fact that she kept things from him. But he would let it go for now. They had more important things to focus on.  
  
“Very well. The reason I know Ron’s mind has been meddled with is because I couldn’t see what made him decide to give you the abortion potion. The idea that you might be better off without a second child was just an angry, immature response to the argument. Somewhere between that fight and when he bought the potion, someone made him decide to do it. But I couldn’t see who it was; magic was keeping me away.”  
  
Hermione hugged herself. “Why would someone do this? And why Ron? Why not mess with Harry’s mind or Mrs Weasley’s? She was the one who made the food.”  
  
“I have no idea why they would do this. But I know why they chose Ron. He wouldn’t have been able to be used like this if he hadn’t been inclined to do it. After all, his personality hasn’t been changed. Someone would have noticed before tonight if that were the case.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Inclined to do it? What does that mean?”  
  
“It means that a part of him, a small part, thought you shouldn’t have a second child.” Hermione was about to object, but he held up his hand. “I’m not lying. Can you honestly not see a small part of Ron thinking that you don’t want a child but are too afraid or proud to have an abortion? Because from what I saw in his mind, he actually believes that he is helping you.”  
  
Her lips tightened, but she looked down.  
  
“Will he try to do it again?” Hermione asked after a moment of silence.  
  
She seemed determined not to give anyone another chance to hurt her unborn child.  
  
“It’s possible. Someone has made him believe that he will do you a great service by getting rid of the child. It is likely that he thinks you are secretly grateful. I saw in his mind that he doesn’t think I’m good for you.” He smirked at the last.  
  
Hermione snorted but then sighed. “I guess I should stay out of his way until he is better. He can become better, right?”  
  
“It will be hard, but there are specialists at St. Mungo’s who should be able to fix him,” Voldemort answered.  
  
She closed her eyes, sighing. He got the feeling she was fighting back tears.   
  
“Merlin, why do I keep getting in the middle of these things?”  
  
He stroked her cheek. “We will manage. I will not allow any harm to come to you or our unborn child.”  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. Her hand came up to his face. He leaned closer, and when she closed her eyes, he kissed her. He was uncertain why he did it, but it felt like the right thing to do. He didn’t want her to start crying. No. Then, there would be phlegm all over, and that was never pleasant. Besides, kissing Hermione was always pleasuring.  
  
“Voldemort?” she mumbled against his lips.  
  
“Hush, dear,” he muttered back. “Someone could hear.”  
  
“Sorry.” She withdrew slightly and looked up at him, the sadness had been partly replaced with lust. “Why did you take my knickers before?”  
  
He gave her a wolfish grin. “So it would be easier to do this, of course.”  
  
He captured her lips again and moved his hand underneath the hem of her skirt and up between her legs. Like always, she was wet, and she let out a moan when he pressed a finger inside her. Her arms came around his neck, and he laid her down on the bed, his robe falling over her naked legs.  
  
Their kiss was so allconsuming that he first didn’t hear the door opening. But he definitely heard it when Potter entered. It didn’t stop him from slowly moving his finger around inside her cunt. It wasn’t like Potter could see it; Voldemort’s robe was shielding them.  
  
However, Hermione became aware of her friend after only a few short seconds, and she pushed Voldemort away. He had a hard time containing his glee when he saw her flaming red face. He turned and looked at Potter, only to discover the boy seemed equally embarrassed. Just because he couldn’t torture the boy like he used to didn’t mean he couldn’t torture him in some other way.  
  
“Oops,” he said and withdrew his finger from inside Hermione, wiping it off on the inside of his cloak. Maybe he didn’t sound as uncomfortable as a normal person would’ve sounded if they had been caught with their fingers inside someone’s cunt, but that was only because the situation was too hilarious.  
  
Potter cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say that Ron has been taken away. Mr … ah, Arthur and Molly went with him. If you want to leave, too, they will all understand.”  
  
Hermione seemed to want nothing more than to leave the room. “I’ll just go and get Althea.”  
  
Before Voldemort had time to object, she was gone and Voldemort was left alone with the boy he had tried to kill on numerous occasions. Hermione had probably not considered that. There were at least a dozen ways for Voldemort to kill the younger man and make it look like an accident. Not that he would, but still.  
  
“I hope we didn’t upset you with our … er, that,” Voldemort said, making sure a hint of regret was heard in his voice. He did actually know what regret appeared like, even though he had never felt the emotion himself.  
  
Potter’s face was still slightly red. “No, not upset. I’m glad Hermione has found someone she likes.”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “I’m actually happy she hadn’t before. She is an extraordinary woman. I’m lucky I get to have her for the rest of my life.”  
  
Potter smiled back. “Good. Hermione will always be one of my closest friends. I would not like to see her suffer.”  
  
“Neither would I,” Voldemort replied. At least he didn’t want anyone other than him to make her suffer. “But you and Hermione have never … er, been an item, right?”  
  
Potter snorted. “No, never. That would have been weird. I’ll always love Hermione like a sister, but nothing more.”  
  
“I’m relieved to hear that,” Voldemort said and faked a sheepish smile. “I would not want to duel the Saviour of the Wizarding World for her hand.”  
  
Potter laughed. “I’ve actually heard that you are excellent at duelling, so I don’t think I would give you much of a match.”  
  
Voldemort wondered where Potter had heard it but decided it was something to investigate later. Right now, there was another road of conversation he wanted to follow.  
  
“Don’t sell yourself short, Harry. Few manage to become Aurors. And I’ve heard that you have advanced quickly in the field.”  
  
The ever so modest boy smiled shyly. “Comes with being the only one who has ever bested Voldemort. There are a lot better wizards in the squad, though.”  
  
Voldemort smiled. It was just too easy to get him to talk. The sweet, naive, trusting Gryffindor.   
  
“Don’t be so sure about that. From what I’ve heard, You-Know-Who was a very powerful wizard. How did you manage to beat him? If you don’t mind me asking?”  
  
Potter shrugged. “It wasn’t so much that I was good as he was stupid, I guess.”  
  
Voldemort barely managed to keep his face neutral. “Stupid?”  
  
“Oh, I guess he was cleverer than most when it came to a lot of things. But he always underestimated people and their feelings. Especially love. He couldn’t imagine the power that comes from fighting for the people you love.”  
  
“Really? Intriguing.” Voldemort forced his voice to stay friendly even though he was overcome by an overwhelming urge to strangle the boy.  
  
“You weren’t part of the war at all?” Potter asked, curious.  
  
“No, I wasn’t. I was just a toddler when the first war broke out, and since I was living with my father in the Muggle world, I wasn’t really affected by it. Although, afterwards, I have guessed that the war was one of the reasons why my father had me home-schooled,” Voldemort lied effortlessly.  
  
“But wasn’t your father a Muggle?”  
  
“He was, but he was also a very wealthy man with connections in the Wizarding World. What he couldn’t teach me from books, he hired others to do. By the time of the second war, I had already left Britain and was travelling the world. I had no ties whatsoever left here.”  
  
“Must have been lonely.”  
  
Voldemort shrugged. “Before I met Hermione, I was certain I would spend all my days alone.”   
  
That was probably the only true thing he had said to Potter tonight.  
  
Right then, the door opened again, and Hermione entered, carrying a sleeping Althea.  
  
“Sorry it took so long,” Hermione said with a sigh. “She was with the others, and I couldn’t just take her and leave.”  
  
By the bitter look on Hermione’s face, Voldemort figured the talk hadn’t been enjoyable. He stood up and took the sleeping girl from her arms.  
  
“I guess we should take our leave, then,” he said and turned to Potter. “A pleasure to meet you again, Harry, despite the … incident.”  
  
“Likewise,” Potter answered and gave Hermione a hug before he left the room.  
  
Once the door was closed, Voldemort dropped the friendly smile on his face.  
  
“Let’s go,” he growled to her and Apparated them both away.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for betaing this chapter.

**Chapter 25**   
  


After they had put a tired and cranky Althea in bed, Hermione went out to the kitchen to make herself some tea. After everything that had happened in the Burrow, she felt a bit shaky and needed something to relax.  
  
Voldemort seemed to be in a foul mood as well, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask why. Merlin knows what he and Harry had talked about when they’d been alone in Ginny’s bedroom.  
  
“Tea?” she asked instead.  
  
“Fine,” he replied and sat down at the kitchen table.  
  
A few minutes later, she had placed two steaming cups on the table.  
  
“Why would someone want me to have an abortion?” she finally asked. The question had naturally been on her mind for the last hour, but she hadn’t managed to come up with a single answer to it.  
  
“One would assume they don’t want my child to be born,” he muttered darkly.  
  
Hermione took another sip, a bit disappointed that he didn’t seem to know the answer either.   
  
“Our child,” she mumbled.  
  
“Right.” Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But why?”  
  
She regarded him closely. She suddenly wondered if he knew something about the child and just didn’t want to tell her?   
  
“Perhaps they know something about it that I don’t?”  
  
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Are you suggesting that I know something about the child that you don’t?”  
  
“The Healer, or whatever she was, said that children could be very dangerous under a bad influence,” she stated. “You could be considered a bad influence.”  
  
“True, but if I were the bad influence, shouldn’t they try to keep Althea from me as well?”  
  
She had to admit it didn’t make sense. “And you don’t have any plans on how to use this child to gain world domination or anything like that?”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course, once the child is born, I’m slowly going to turn it into a copy of myself and together we shall rule the world. Hear my evil laughter.”  
  
“A simple ‘no’ would have been sufficient,” she replied sourly.  
  
He snorted and drank from his tea.  
  
“Fine, so if you aren’t planning anything with it, why would they want to kill it?”  
  
“I have no idea. It could be something you have done, or we together have—” Voldemort stopped mid-sentence, his mouth still a little open. His eyes were focused on something far off in the distance.  
  
Hermione was about to ask what he was thinking when he rose, his eyes once again on her.  
  
“I need you to go away and do something else for a couple of hours,” he suddenly ordered.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “This is my flat; why should I leave?”  
  
He scowled. “Then stay in the bedroom.”  
  
She crossed her arms, getting angry. “I’m not one of your minions, Voldemort. Tell me what you are planning to do, and I may go away.”  
  
His wand appeared in his hand. Before Hermione even had time to draw hers, he had already hit her with a spell, and she fell down, unconscious.  
  
When she woke up, she was lying naked in bed. It was dark outside, and the round alarm clock on her nightstand told her it was six o’clock. Slightly disorientated, she couldn’t tell if it were early evening or morning. Looking around the room, she noticed that Althea’s bed was empty. Before she had time to start worrying, she heard the soft hissing of Parseltongue coming from the other side of the door. Voldemort was still there, then.  
  
Her fury rising, she pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door. Voldemort and Althea were eating dinner together, but he looked up when she entered.  
  
“Ah, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”  
  
Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked to the table. Before the frustrating man could say anything else, she slapped him at the back of his head.  
  
“Ouch,” Voldemort said, not sounding like he actually meant it.  
  
She withdrew her wand, wanting to let him feel what it was like to become unconscious like that.  
  
“NO!” Althea flew up from her seat and threw herself around Hermione. “Don’t hurt Daddy again!”  
  
Hermione froze and looked down at her daughter. Althea’s wide brown eyes were filled with fear. Hermione recalled the last time Althea had seen her raise her wand at Voldemort. It had been the time she had tried to kill him. Guilt washed over her, and she sat down, embracing Althea.  
  
“It’s okay, sweetie. I won’t hurt your father,” she mumbled to her daughter and sent Voldemort a deadly glare. He looked way too pleased with himself.  
  
Althea started to sob against Hermione’s chest. Hermione stroked her hair, trying to calm the girl down. Voldemort slid down from his chair as well and spoke a few comforting words in Parseltongue. At least Hermione thought it was comforting, judging by the softness in Voldemort’s tone.  
  
“Let’s continue to eat, Althea,” Voldemort said in English after a moment, leading Althea back to her chair. “I’m sure your mother is hungry as well. That’s probably why she tried to hurt me.”  
  
Hermione glared at him again, but followed his lead and sat down at the kitchen table. Althea had stopped sobbing, but she continued to look at Hermione with worry. Not until Hermione had served herself some of the rice and fish stew did Althea turn back to eating.  
  
“I can tell what you’re thinking, Hermione,” Voldemort said casually. “And before you start coming up with ways to hex me in my sleep, just let me explain why I did it.”  
  
“Fine. Talk,” Hermione said, carefully keeping her temper in check.  
  
“Do you understand German?” he asked.  
  
“Hardly anything,” she answered and started eating. It was just as delicious as it smelled. Damn him. Someone so evil shouldn’t be allowed to create wonderful things.  
  
“Very well, I’ll summarise for you. If you think I’m lying, you can take the book and do your own translation.”  
  
“What book?” she asked, starting to become curious. She knew Voldemort wouldn’t curse her for just anything. If this were about a book, then it was probably a very special book. Hermione liked special books.  
  
He went to the coffee table at the other side of the room and picked up a book and a notepad before he came back to the kitchen table.  
  
“Mum, will you be nice to Dad now?” Althea asked. She had finished eating, and Hermione guessed she wanted to go and play but wasn’t sure she could leave her parents alone.  
  
“Yes, very nice,” Hermione said, doing her best to sound honest. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and paint something pretty? That way, you can see that I won’t hurt him.”  
  
Althea seemed very pleased with that proposal and skipped to the couch. Hermione shook her head. Merlin, that girl had a shifting temperament, just like her father. That thought did not comfort Hermione at all.  
  
“This book,” Voldemort said once Althea was at the couch. He placed a book down in front of Hermione. The binder was blue without any pictures or text, except on the side where a title in German was written. She opened it but couldn’t understand any of the text; the letters were so tiny and the sentences so crowded that she had to squint her eyes to even attempt to read one line properly.  
  
“What’s it about, then?” she asked and pushed the book back to him, resuming her eating.  
  
“I think several people have contributed to its contents, but the author, Konrad Bäcker, has put it all together. He was his own publisher, but few were interested in his writings, and it only sold a couple of copies.”  
  
“But what is it actually about?” she asked again, getting annoyed.  
  
“I stumbled across it because it contains an explanation for Legilimency through touch,” Voldemort said slowly.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened in curiosity. “And what does it say about that?”  
  
“There have been documentations throughout history of wizards and witches who have had the ability to use Legilimency through touch on one witch or wizard, but only that specific person. They were never able to duplicate it with another individual. These pairs are referred to as people with a _Shared Flame_.”  
  
“Shared Flame?” Hermione asked, not familiar with the name.  
  
Voldemort flipped the pages again. “Loosely translated, this says: ‘In almost every culture, references to this phenomenon can be found. In Ancient Greece, the great magical theorist, Plato, described it as _Soul Mates_. This interpretation of the phenomenon has been passed on to every European culture and its subjects. It also goes on to explain how in certain Asian countries it was seen differently. They referred to it as Magic Mates, Soul Bonds, etc.’ You get the picture, I hope?”  
  
Hermione could see on Voldemort’s face that he actually believed this. If he were about to mock the theory, his lips would have been curved upwards in an arrogant look. Now, he only seemed to be serious. She nodded.   
  
So, he continued quoting:  
  
“‘Even if people acknowledge their belief in Soul Mates, they mean it as something coming from true love. These studies, however, show that, what can be described as Soul Mates, doesn’t necessarily have to be a connection of love. Instead, what binds them together is something in their magical being. Since the term _Soul_ is an already established term—which means the core of one’s being—we describe this phenomenon with a different term, namely that two people have a _Shared Flame_.’ And yes, that is what it says in the book,” Voldemort added when he saw her raised eyebrow. “That was just a summary; he describes quite greatly why _Soul_ is a bad term to use on this phenomenon since it’s so connected to religious beliefs, whilst this is science.”  
  
“When was the book written?” Hermione asked.  
  
“1970. The author spent his whole life researching this.”  
  
“It sounds like it was written by a Muggle,” Hermione remarked.  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “That’s because it is.”  
  
Hermione blinked at him. He actually believed something that had to do with magic but was written by a Muggle? Could pigs fly as well? However, if she gloated now, he would probably not say anything else. Instead, she saved the gloating for another time.   
  
“So, Shared Flame? How do they describe it?”  
  
Voldemort, looking a bit uncomfortable, continued: “The phenomenon is when two people have the same of something described as ‘Flame’.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
Voldemort put the book open on the table and then looked at her. “What is magic, Hermione?”  
  
“The energy we control and can use to affect the world around us,” Hermione said, quoting the book _Magical Theory_ almost word for word.  
  
Voldemort snorted. “Yes, but what does it mean?”  
  
“It means that ...” Hermione hesitated. This was starting to feel like a school test, and she didn’t want to fail. “We have this energy inside us... Is that the Flame they are talking about?”  
  
“Yes, but you are skipping too far ahead. How come wizards and some animals can use magic, whilst Muggles and the majority of other animals can’t?”  
  
“They don’t have magic inside them,” Hermione replied slowly.  
  
“A theory as to why Muggle-borns have magic is explained here.” He pointed at the book and began reading again. “‘Sometimes it happens that a wizard or a witch acquires a Flame that is too big for one body to handle. When this happens, the Flame will split in two and jump into another suitable body.’ Therefore, the Flame, or magic, or whatever you wish to call it, is the same in two different bodies.”  
  
Hermione stared at him, blinked, and stared again. Then, she scowled. “Oh, come on, you don’t expect me to fall for the whole ‘Mudbloods have stolen wizards’ magic’ again, do you?”  
  
“I didn’t say steal,” he replied sourly.  
  
Her scowl deepened. “Sorry, no, you just happened to find a book in a foreign language that says Muggle-borns don’t have magic of their own but get it from others. You can’t tell me this won’t end up with you thinking I owe you all my magic—”  
  
Suddenly, no words came out of her mouth. She growled silently at Voldemort; he had  cast a Silencing Charm on her, and she didn’t even notice.  
  
“Let me finish first. I’m not truly convinced that this is true, but there are a lot of things that make sense. Like their explanation on how this ‘Sharing’ of a ‘Flame’ happens. They claim to have a documented case. A witch tried to get more magic through a ritual; however, afterwards, she felt weaker. A month or so later, another witch was born to Muggle parents, not far from where the first witch had done her ritual. This witch developed the same strong magical abilities as the older witch. When they met, a strong bond was formed between them.” Voldemort tilted his head. “You were born September 19th, 1979 in Romsey, correct?”  
  
The bad feeling in her gut increased as she reluctantly nodded.  
  
“Do you know what I did in August 1979?”  
  
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.  
  
He put his hands together over the top of the book. “I had just heard about a prophecy that spoke of a boy who would be my downfall. I tried to do a dark ritual, which would assimilate a lot more magic for me. The perfect place to do so was in a forest just outside Romsey. I thought I failed because I woke up the next day feeling rather bad, and it took me quite some time to recover and regain my strength again.”  
  
Hermione stared at him. He smiled, reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Sparks of pleasure travelled up her arm.  
  
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Hermione,” he said mildly, looking down at her hand as he stroked her fingers gently. She was too shocked to move. “And I don’t believe that Soul Mates have anything to do with love. Yet, when we touch … Why would I find it so pleasurable if it weren’t because I met a part of myself? A part that is longing to come back to me.”  
  
He looked into her eyes again. “You are a witch because I shared the ‘Flame’ that is my magic with you.”  
  
Hermione withdrew her hand as if he had burnt her. This was surreal. Perhaps it was just a coincidence? Coincidences did happen sometimes. It had to be a coincidence! She had always thought that she was just the next stage in the evolution of her family, or that her family had some magical blood in their past somewhere that had just become activated in her again. Of course, his theory didn’t necessarily contradict any of the theories she had had. He had said that the Flame jumped to the nearest suitable body. Of all the people who had been born in Romsey around the same time as she was, why would his ‘Flame’ jump to her? Perhaps she would have been a witch anyway, but not as powerful?  
  
“There is one thing that doesn’t make sense... Dumbledore said that Harry and Ginny were Soul Mates as well.”  
  
Not until he answered did she realise she had got her voice back and had spoken out loud.  
  
“Dumbledore was wrong about what a Soul Mate is, Hermione,” Voldemort reminded her. “We came to that conclusion right after you‘d seen him. In his eyes, Potter and Weasley may have been a perfect love match, and they may fit into Plato’s description of the term Soul Mates, but they are not connected in the same way as we are.”  
  
Well, that was true at least. Harry and Ginny had never behaved the same way around each other as she and Voldemort did. Harry hadn’t even been interested in Ginny until several years after they had first met. It wasn’t like Voldemort and she, who had got together because their bodies seemed drawn together.  
  
“But how could this be?” Hermione asked out loud. “Are all Muggle-borns a result of powerful wizards and witches trying to get more magic than their bodies can handle? Because I know of several Muggle-borns who aren’t very powerful.”  
  
He tapped with his right index finger on the book. “The wizard or witch doesn’t have to be powerful to begin with. The body can take in more magic; like I do when we have sex. It’s when the body tries to take in a lot more magic at once that this seems to occur.”  
  
“So all Muggle-borns have a Soul Mate or someone with the same magic as them?”  
  
He shrugged. “The book does leave the possibility open that a Muggle-born can occur for other reasons. There doesn’t have to be one big explanation for why there are Muggle-borns in the world. In fact, I don’t think all Muggle-borns are created this way. Magic to increase your own magic is considered Dark Arts. And there are only a few practising dark wizards and witches these days, and yet, there has been a steady increase in Muggle-borns.”  
  
Hermione hated the unspoken “ _but you are created this way”._ She did not want to be a result of Voldemort taking on more than he could manage.  
  
Voldemort continued: “However, this theory about a Shared Flame does explain something I have been puzzled by for quite some time. Namely: Why so many dark wizards and witches have had Muggle-born spouses or lovers who were always younger than them. It also explains why some notorious Muggle-haters have been with Muggle-borns. Like Grindelwald.”  
  
Hermione absorbed this new knowledge in silence for a few minutes. “But if this is true, why hasn’t this theory been tested before? A lot of people have tried to find out why Muggle-borns exist.”  
  
“Yes. But since this book was written by a Muggle, no-one will actually believe it. I wouldn’t if it hadn’t happened to me.”  
  
“So you do believe in it?” she asked.  
  
“It explains everything we have experienced in a reasonable way. The pleasure to touch is because the magic in us wants to be united. The Flame gets, for lack of a better word, ‘happy’ to be together. The Legilimency through touch, which you do, is the same. My magic recognises yours as part of my magic, and thus, my Occlumency can’t stop you since it would be like stopping my own thoughts. However, I should point out that I can do the same to you, even if you had strong abilities in Occlumency, which you don’t. That being said, I will conduct my own research before I draw any conclusions based on one person’s theory.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t very fond of this at all. “But this doesn’t make sense. How could a Muggle find out all of this? This is something not even modern wizards know a lot about.”  
  
“Konrad Bäcker was a Muggle physicist and biologist. Apparently, his daughter was a Muggle-born who found her Soul Mate or Shared Flame,” Voldemort replied dryly. “Turns out you are not the only Muggle-born who tells her parents everything. Although, in her case, with ‘everything’, I do mean _everything._ At least you have the common sense to keep some things hidden. She told her father every single detail of her life. That was why he studied it. He wanted to find a way to break the bond between his daughter and her Soul Mate.”  
  
“Who was he?”  
  
“Grindelwald of course.”  
  
Hermione sighed. _Of course._ “Did her father succeed?”  
  
“No. As you know, Dumbledore beat Grindelwald. Bäcker discovered then that his daughter was very unhappy to be away from him. She never managed to find another lover.”  
  
Hermione sat in silence and thought about what he had told her. It did sound more believable than anything else she had heard and read about the subject so far. Still, it didn’t really change anything. They would still get married. She was still pregnant. They still didn’t know why someone appeared to want her unborn child dead.  
  
“Does it say anything about why someone would want to murder the second child of a couple with a Shared Flame?” she asked after a long while.  
  
“No. Some of the cases Bäcker studied had children, but he didn’t comment upon it other than that the children were magical.”  
  
“Are any of them alive today? Perhaps we could find them and ask?”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “That was why I told you about this. Together, I believe we can track them down. Bäcker doesn’t mention any of them by name, but I’m sure he must have kept a record somewhere. It’s a long shot, but maybe some of them have had a similar experience, and then, we may find out the motive behind the person who is trying to kill our child.”  
  
He was right; it was a long shot. Hermione pressed a hand against her stomach. She would do anything to find out why someone wanted her child dead. If they knew why, then maybe, they could also find out who it was. Once they knew that … Well, Voldemort might be the mass murderer in the family, but Hermione knew she would be able to give him a run for his money when someone was threatening her children.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks to Nerys and Shan84 for betaing this chapter!

**Chapter 26**  
  
Once Christmas was over, Voldemort and Hermione moved into the bigger flat that the university council had promised them. It contained two bedrooms, a big combined living room/kitchen and a bathroom. With the new child on its way, they decided that Althea should have her own room. During the day that was not a problem, but in the first week, Althea came in to her parents’ bedroom every night because she couldn’t sleep. Hermione and Voldemort shared the responsibility to take Althea back to her own room and stay with her until she fell asleep again. Usually, this only happened once a night.  
  
The new semester began in January, and by then Hermione had managed to do all the work she had missed during the time she had been kidnapped and spent in recovery. Despite Voldemort’s distrust, the nanny stayed with Althea when they were both in school, but it was only two to three times a week. Once the lectures were over, Hermione and Voldemort took their turns staying at home with Althea. Sometimes, Hermione needed to go to the library and check things up. Other days, Voldemort needed to be at his office or at some meeting. When they were together, they tried tracking down Bäcker and find out more about his Shared Flame research, but at the end of the day, they were lucky if they got to spend more than one hour working on it.  
  
“You do realise that if we didn’t have sex so much, we would have more time to research,” Hermione pointed out when they were once again lying in the afterglow late one night in the second week of January.  
  
Voldemort chuckled, his head resting on her abdomen. “Realise, yes. However, I find myself much more attracted to you now that I know how much of myself is inside of you.”  
  
Hermione scowled, feeling her annoyance rise. Ever since he figured out a part of her magic came from him, he had started to take credit for almost everything she excelled in. She responded the same way she always did when he acted like that by smacking him across the head. It wasn’t that she believed violence could solve anything; but since nothing else seemed to work on him, she was prepared to give it a chance. Alas, so far it hadn’t worked. But, she thought to herself: _If first you don’t succeed …_  
  
“Ouch,” he said, though it seemed as though he didn’t feel any pain at all. “Should I take that as an indication that you don’t want to have sex anymore?”  
  
She snorted. “Of course I want to have sex. But we spend over two hours every day having sex—sometimes over three. Perhaps we could combine it?”  
  
“Or you could just spend less time studying. It’s not like you need it.”  
  
“I don’t think a teacher is supposed to tell a student to study less,” she remarked dryly, moving so his head fell down on the mattress. It was getting too heavy. Probably because of his ego.  
  
Voldemort sat up and stretched his back. “When the student is as far ahead as you are, they can. We are not cutting back on sex unless you want me to start disappearing at night again.”  
  
“You promised you wouldn’t,” Hermione said, hating how her heart fluttered with fear. But she was well aware that if he broke his promise, there was little she could do.  
  
Voldemort gave her a reassuring smile and lay down again, half on top of her. “And so far I haven’t had to.” He then kissed her.  
  
Hermione shivered with pleasure as sparks began travelling down her spine. However, after a couple of minutes, he broke the kiss and lay down next to her.  
  
“I’m glad to hear,” she whispered in relief. She could sense that he wasn’t lying. Although, there was something in his voice she just couldn’t put her finger on. “Is it hard?”  
  
He snorted. “No, you’ll have to wait another half-an-hour.”  
  
It took her a moment to realise he was talking about his cock. She rolled her eyes in response. “I didn’t mean … ah, never mind.”  
  
“What?” he asked, curious.  
  
Hermione sighed. “No, I was just … It doesn’t matter, I don’t want to know.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
She sighed; she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to the question, which had been niggling at her for quite some time. In the end, the side of her brain always seeking answers won.   
  
“Is it hard, you know, not killing?”  
  
She felt him stiffen. After a moment, he replied with: “How did it feel killing Lucius?”  
  
“I try not to think about it actually,” she mumbled, already regretting her question.  
  
He turned towards her, his hand now resting on her stomach. His eyes were gleaming in the dim light. “It felt good, didn’t it? Knowing you had the absolute power over another person.”  
  
She swallowed. “Not really. I’m glad he is dead but not … I was just trying to get out.”  
  
“Is that really true? Or are you just telling yourself that because it is socially acceptable?” he questioned, looking eager. His hand came up to cup her face. “Think back: What were you feeling when you held the wand?”  
  
She felt unease sweep through her. “I’m not sure; I don’t remember.”  
  
He moved closer to her; his nose was now almost touching hers. She felt his breath on her mouth as he pressed their bodies together. “Will you show me?” His hand now came to rest at the back of her head.  
  
“I’m…” Her heart was now beating faster in panic; she didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Please,” he whispered.  
  
She stared at him, unable to ever recall him asking nicely for something. With a sigh, she caved in. Before she could even give him verbal permission he entered her mind. The initial panic she felt eased when he ignored all her other memories. He pulled them directly to her memory in the laundry room.  
  
It was strange, reliving it again. However, this time, she was watching from a distance. The feelings she had felt back then were there, just not as strong. She recognised them as desperation and anxiousness, but there were also determination. She could feel Voldemort there as well, seeing everything she saw.  
  
The door opened, and Malfoy entered. Hermione saw herself hit him again and again with the wet piece of clothing. Then, he was lying down, and she was holding his wand. She could barely keep up with what she was feeling. There were so many emotions swirling around her mind that she couldn’t sort through them quickly enough. The green light flashed, and Malfoy was dead. Memory-Hermione was about to pass out, but before she did, Voldemort somehow managed to enhance the feelings. Relief was the strongest, but there was also a great amount of satisfaction that she couldn’t remember feeling at any other time. There was no guilt or remorse whatsoever.  
  
Voldemort withdrew from her mind, and Hermione blinked several times before lying down on the bed again. When the spinning stopped, she noted Voldemort was watching her. It took her a moment to recognise his look; he was proud.  
  
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Perhaps justify why she had acted like that. That she felt guilty _now,_ after it had occured. Though, she then realised that she didn’t feel guilty at all. She hadn’t wanted to think about what had happened. It had scared her and made her feel sick but not guilty.  
  
Voldemort’s mouth suddenly came down on hers in a searing kiss. She felt his hard member against her thigh. However, even though the thought of death seemed to turn him on, she still hadn’t sunk quite so low. Therefore, when his hand started to wander downwards, she broke the kiss.  
  
He paused, but his eyes were still burning with lust as he watched her. It made her feel slightly ill.  
  
“I’m not like you,” she stated with conviction, never feeling more serious in her life.  
  
The burning lust faded and was replaced with disappointment and … was that hurt? Before she had time to analyse further, he had got off the bed and stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.  
  
Hermione stared at the now empty space. What had happened? Surely he couldn’t be upset just because she wasn’t like him? It wasn’t like it was a secret. Nevertheless, there were only two possible reasons Hermione could think of as to why Voldemort would leave so quickly. The first was that he was angry with her, and since he couldn’t curse her, he left. The second was that he had possibly got a stomach cramp. Either way, Hermione knew that disturbing him was out of the question. She had made that mistake once before when he had left in the middle of an academic dispute. She had followed him and told him that he was being childish. After maybe ten minutes, he had come out again, replying dryly that he did have a digestive system.  
  
Still, it was annoying not knowing. As the minutes passed, she became more and more agitated. But she would be damned if she went and asked if he was alright. Nope, she wouldn’t. Not at all. She was sure that he would come out when he was ready. She was not worried that he might have Apparated out of the bathroom and was now torturing innocent Muggles just because she hadn’t shagged him. _Not one bit …_  
  
Scowling, she finally went and knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you there?”   
  
She reached for the handle and found the door unlocked. When she opened it, she saw him standing in front of the mirror.  
  
“I needed to think,” he said without looking at her.  
  
“About?” she asked.  
  
He sighed and turned towards her. “If I could make you understand.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “If I could understand what? Why you get horny from killing?”  
  
He scowled and turned back to the mirror again. “That sort of response indicates just how little you understand.”  
  
Hermione crossed her arms over her naked chest. “Well, why don’t you try me?”   
  
It wasn’t like she could ever think murdering innocents was ever excusable, but she had never seen him act this way and was therefore quite curious to find out what he was thinking. Before she had met and got to know him, Hermione had thought Lord Voldemort was just a very, very disturbed creature and couldn’t understand at all why people wanted to follow him. The real Voldemort had shocked her. He was very rational, and his mind was bloody brilliant. He did show emotions and could behave like any other human.  
  
Then, there was this other side. Hermione had tried to ignore it, but that was clearly impossible; it always came up. So perhaps she should give him a chance to try to explain. Even though she would never agree with him, it would help if she were able to at least somewhat understand a part of what he felt when it came to killing. Perhaps then she had a greater chance to keep him from doing it in the long run.  
  
However, there was always the risk that what he would tell her would scare her beyond belief. But now she thought she was ready to take the risk.  
  
She suddenly realised that Voldemort had been watching her throughout her entire internal monologue. When she finally came to her conclusion, he straightened and came over to her.  
  
“You are freezing, dear,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s go back to bed.”  
  
“I want you to tell me,” she said, sounding much more certain than she actually felt.  
  
His smile was cold. “Very well, but I want to be inside you when I do.”  
  
With his hands on her shoulders, he steered her back towards the bed. Hermione let the pleasure of his touch comfort her and make her wet. It took longer than it usually did, most likely because she felt nervous about what he was about to tell her. They were lying on their sides, she on her right and he on his left. He kissed her thoroughly for a few minutes while rubbing her back and neck, lightly scratching the most sensitive areas on her neck. His hand then travelled downwards again and went between her legs. When he found that she was wet, he lifted her left leg over his hips and positioned himself at her opening.  
  
Hermione moaned when he finally thrust into her. However, instead of moving, he stopped kissing her and was suddenly still. She looked at him, wanting to move and feel that delicious friction that her body currently craved. However, Voldemort took a hold of her hip and kept her still.  
  
“You wanted to know,” he whispered, rubbing small circles on her hip with his thumb. “Have you changed your mind?”  
  
Right, talking about why he liked killing. It was hard to focus on that when it felt like her whole body was on fire.   
  
“No, but I want you to move.”  
  
“In time.” His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard.  
  
She answered by clenching the muscles inside her cunt.  
  
Voldemort exhaled with a groan of pleasure and closed his eyes for a brief period of time. “You are doing your best to stop me from talking, Hermione.”  
  
“You are the one who wanted to talk to me like this,” she reminded him, clenching her muscles again. It enhanced the pleasure, and she began wondering why she didn’t do it more often.  
  
“True,” he muttered and moved his hand over her arse. “I guess I have to talk quickly, then?”  
  
“You better,” she answered huskily and closed her eyes, preparing for whatever he was about to say. She didn’t think she could feel too badly about it as long as he was inside her, giving her this much pleasure—perhaps that was what he had counted on.  
  
When she had been still for a moment, he moved his hand up to her face, stroking the hair out of her face. She opened her eyes again and was struck by the look in his eyes; he seemed almost … fond.  
  
“I don’t want you to be like me,” he whispered. “If you were, I would have killed you already. I wouldn’t want the competition of someone as brilliant as you being as power-hungry as I am.”  
  
She looked at him cautiously, unsure what to say so she remained silent. His fingers came up to her mouth, stroking her lower lip.  
  
“But I would like you to be a bit less concerned about the lives of people you don’t even know. Ah, don’t,” he said, placing a finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to retort. “I know you won’t. Just like you know you won’t be able to change me.”  
  
She closed her mouth again, and he let his hand wander down and capture one of her breasts, stroking it gently. “You are a fascinating woman, Hermione. So brave, good and caring, and yet––” He closed his eyes and thrust his cock even deeper inside of her. “Yet, you have proven that you are willing to hand out your own retribution, even when it comes down to killing another.” He opened his eyes again, staring straight into hers. “You are not like me, but you aren’t the opposite of me either. You have darkness inside of you, even when I’m not doing this,” he added with a smile, whilst withdrawing and thrusting inside her again.  
  
Hermione moaned and closed her eyes.  
  
“My sweet kitten,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss her again. “The sacrifices I make to be with you …”  
  
The high tension between them and the withheld pleasure caused a few tears to escape Hermione’s eyes. Voldemort licked them away carefully.  
  
“I’ve killed so many people and I’ve done it with a song in my heart,” he continued with a low voice. “I enjoy it. It gives me peace of mind—just as this does.” He moved inside her again. “But I guess your question really is ‘ _Why?’_...” His hand moved from her breast and onto her back, stroking it lightly. “Do you really want to know?”  
  
She opened her teary eyes; the pleasure was making it extremely hard to think. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to stop. Never stop. She wanted him so much her heart was aching, so much so that nothing he could say would ever make her stop craving him.   
  
“Yes,” she finally confirmed.  
  
Voldemort smiled. It was a pleased smile. “It’s all about power.” He rolled on top of her. “The power over life and death.” He instantly began thrusting in and out of her. “There is no sweeter feeling than the moment they realise that I’m the one in control. Just before I kill them, I can see it in their eyes.”  
  
Hermione tried to grab a hold of him, but he quickly took a hold of her wrists and pushed them down on the mattress.  
  
“I. Am. The. One. With. The. Power,” he hissed, emphasising every word as he thrust into her.  
  
They both suddenly climaxed, with Voldemort falling down on top of her. With his mouth right next to her ear, he whispered: “And when I see that they have understood it, too, I’m finally sated ... if only for a while.”  
  
Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling over his shoulder, feeling his weight press into her body. For the first time ever, she actually felt pity for the man lying on top of her. To always feel that unfulfilled… He was like a hungry wolf, trying to fill his stomach with the meat of innocent lambs. But just like a hungry wolf, he would always need to hunt again.  
  
Nevertheless, he might think that he needed to kill, but unlike a hungry wolf, a wizard didn’t need to kill for their survival; it was just how he felt. She was a substitute for it, though, which meant he could be sated in other ways.  
  
“That is not the ‘ _why_ ’,” she said when she had finally regained control over her thoughts and voice.  
  
“Pardon?” he asked, rising up to look her in the eye.  
  
She reached up with her now free hand and traced the outline of his cheek. “I get it. You need to feel the power. But you didn’t tell me _why._ ”  
  
He turned his head and kissed her fingers. “The power is all that is important, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione shook her head slowly. He had managed to get her to understand his need. Perhaps she could try to explain her feelings to him? She embraced him, nudged him onto his back and then rolled on top of him. Straddling his hips, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He watched her with a puzzled, yet amused, expression.  
  
“What do you feel?” she asked, holding her hand on top of his.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Skin?”  
  
She scowled at him. “You know what I mean. What are you thinking about when you are thinking about our unborn child? Seriously,” she added when she saw that he was about to make up a dramatic lie.  
  
He sighed. “I’m not going to give you an honest answer since I know that will only make you run away crying. Why do you wish to know?”  
  
“I won’t run away crying,” she promised. “Please. You were honest before, and I didn’t run, did I?”  
  
“I guess not,” he muttered but still didn’t seem convinced.  
  
Hermione moved his hand over her stomach. “Well? What are you thinking?”  
  
He sighed in defeat. “Practical things. What we have to get ready before it is born. What to expect from it in the first few months... Things like that.”  
  
“Like how you can use it the best for whatever it is you are planning?” Hermione filled in neutrally. She didn’t hold any high expectations about his feelings for the child. But she wanted him to admit it himself if she were to be able to explain what she felt.  
  
“Obviously,” he remarked dryly.  
  
“And that is all?” she asked.  
  
“Do you want me to say that I’ll love it?” he sneered.  
  
“No, I don’t want you to lie,” she replied patiently. This would not go as she wanted if she got angry with him. Somehow, she needed him to at least consider it was possible to feel something else for the child.  
  
“Then that’s all I’m feeling,” Voldemort concluded.  
  
She watched him silently for a moment, debating the best way to proceed. Feeling emotions for other human beings was so natural for her, and she couldn’t imagine what it was like not to. Perhaps it would be easiest to work from a logical angle since that would give him an opportunity to follow.  
  
“Do you know how scary it is, sometimes, to know that I’ve something growing inside my body?” she asked.  
  
He looked rather puzzled before answering cautiously: “Yes, I would imagine so.”  
  
“And you, if anyone, can understand that people try to get away from scary things, right?”  
  
He smiled. “Oh, very much.”  
  
“Unless there is something in it for them if they overcome their fear,” Hermione said.  
  
Voldemort was not late to follow. “What is in it for you to carry around a foetus?”  
  
“You tell me,” she challenged.  
  
He looked up at her blankly for a while. “I can’t think of anything, really.” Then, he frowned. “Are you considering an abortion after all?”  
  
She smacked his chest. “No! Because it’s bloody amazing to experience my body creating another individual who will one day walk around here, just like you and me.”  
  
“Amazing?” he asked doubtfully.  
  
“Yes. I never appreciated it when I was carrying Althea. But now, despite the morning sickness, I can actually understand why someone like Mrs Weasley was willing to go through six painful labours; it’s amazing.”  
  
He still looked unconvinced.  
  
“But it’s a feeling you have to experience to understand,” Hermione continued as she lay down on top of him, looking him straight in the eye. “Do you dare to see?”  
  
He scowled at her. However, a moment later, he was inside her mind for the second time that night. She led him directly to what she was experiencing, and he let it wash over him. It was a feeling she didn’t know how to explain; hence, why she’d chosen this rather invasive method to show him her emotions. Maybe it was a sort of love, or maybe it was just all the hormones her body was currently producing. Either way, she could actually feel Voldemort be taken aback by it. It didn’t take long before he withdrew from her mind; she could sense that he was severely troubled.  
  
She placed her head upon his chest, hearing his heart beat in a steady rhythm.   
  
“That is what I feel for our unborn child,” she stated simply, “and for Althea as well. That is what is important for me. Not power—just that.”  
  
To her surprise, Voldemort pushed her off him. She turned around and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling. Minutes passed by, and he didn’t say anything. It started to worry her. She reached out to touch him, but he harshly grabbed her arm and moved so he was leaning over her. His other hand came up to her face; his eyes were dark, and she could feel her heart starting to beat faster in fear and anticipation. His face was not even an inch away from hers.   
  
“Then perhaps you should tell me why it is that I crave power?” His voice was so calm and soft, but his she saw the hardness in his eyes.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. The feeling that this could either work out wonderfully or become a complete catastrophe made her think carefully about what she was about to say next. However, the truth was that she didn’t know much about his past, except what Harry had found out from Dumbledore.  
  
“That is what I don’t know,” she said slowly. “And what I want to find out. Not to change you, just to try and understand. Please?”  
  
He scowled at her before letting go of her face and sitting up on the bed. “Why do you want to understand me? And why now?”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and sat up as well. “Well, I guess I’ve started to understand that we are actually going to be together for the rest of our lives, and I want to understand my husband. It’s like … getting the full understanding of a theory before applying it in your research.”  
  
His gaze was on the wall across the bed, but his lips briefly curved into a small smile, just for a moment. “What if you, when you understand it fully, decide that the theory doesn’t fit your research?”  
  
She snorted. “You know me; I’d rather change the theory or my own research than use something without fully understanding it.”  
  
Voldemort turned around. “But you said you didn’t want to change me.”  
  
Hermione sighed but felt a small glimmer of hope that she was about to get through to him.   
  
“But I can always change my way of looking at you. What I don’t like is that I don’t really know you. I know things about you, things I’ve been able to observe. And I know your opinions in a lot of matters. But I don’t know _you._ ”  
  
Voldemort looked a bit distrustful. “I take it that when you mean _me_ , you mean my history?”  
  
“Well, our experiences in life do in some degree shape who we are,” Hermione replied.  
  
“But you have no ulterior motive to change me once you have figured out the ‘problem’?”  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, starting to feel a bit annoyed. “Do you actually think I will be able to, even if I find out your whole life story?”  
  
Voldemort seemed thoughtful for a moment; then, he smiled again. “Just want to make it clear from the beginning that you shouldn’t waste any time trying to change me.”  
  
“Fine. It’s not like I would have the time anyway between being a Mum, being a student and having sex with you,” she muttered.  
  
He chuckled and lay down again, pulling her with him. She snuggled up against his chest, fighting back a yawn. She had no idea what time it was, but it must have been long after midnight.  
  
“Well?” she asked when he hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes. “Will you start telling me about yourself?”  
  
His hand came up to stroke her hair. “Oh, I think I can be … _persuaded_ to tell you a thing or two.”  
  
She snorted. “Persuaded. Right. Got it.”  
  
She heard him yawn. “But I think that will have to wait until tomorrow. Althea will undoubtedly come in and wake us in five hours or so.”  
  
Hermione agreed and soon she was asleep in the arms of her fiancé.

 

xxx

  
Althea carefully walked away from her parents’ bedroom door when she heard them doing that adult naked playing thing again. They were always doing it. Althea didn’t understand what was so fun about it. All they did was hug and kiss and moan. She had tried doing it with one of her teddy bears, and that had soon become boring.  
  
“ _Althea_.” A whisper came from behind her.  
  
Althea turned around, delighted when she recognised the voice. It was her shadow friend. Maybe it wouldn’t mind sitting beside her when she fell asleep again. She walked back to her own bedroom and found the black, little snake lying next to the bed. Althea bent down to pat its head, but as always, her hand went straight through it.  
  
“ _Why can’t I touch you_?” she asked.   
  
Like always, she spoke Parseltongue with her shadow friend without even realising it.  
  
“ _You can’t, yet. But do you remember what I told you? About how you can touch me when you get older -_ _if you want to_?” the creature replied.  
  
Althea nodded. “ _When will that be_?”  
  
The shadow sighed. “ _That is hard to know. Especially now, with your mother getting sicker_.”  
  
Althea became worried. Her shadow friend had said it a few times before, but Althea hadn’t wanted to believe it. But then … Althea had seen her mother hit her father many times. Not in the same way she had that one time when Althea’s daddy had been all black and blue, but still, it seemed to hurt him. That time, her dad had told her it was because Hermione was sick. Perhaps the sickness was coming back?  
  
“ _I don’t want Mummy to be sick_ ,” Althea said. “ _Why is she sick?”_  
  
The creature hesitated. “ _Well … it’s because of you, Althea.”_  
  
“ _What have I done?”_ Althea wanted to know, horrified.  
  
“ _I know you didn’t want to, but sometimes,_ _it happens. You can’t control your magic. But if you learn how control it, you can help your mother get better again_ ,” her friend told her.  
  
“ _But how can I control my magic? Dad has tried to show me a little, but it’s hard!”_  
  
“ _That’s because you have so much magic, Althea_ ,” her friend comforted her. “ _It’s good. When you get older, you’ll be a very, very powerful witch. But for now, I can teach you how you can make your mum better. Would you like that_?”  
  
Of course Althea did.  
  



	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big hugs and cookies for my two betas Shan84 and Nerys!

**Chapter 27**  
  
Something had changed between them. Voldemort couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. All he knew was that his and Hermione’s relationship had changed. For better or worse, only time would tell. He had taken a risk, telling her about himself, but it had been a calculated risk. If he could get Hermione to think that she understood him, she would be able to come to peace with what he was and what he needed. He was willing to tell her a great deal about himself if it made her more understanding.  
  
Since he couldn’t directly lie to her, he would tell her the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but a great bit more than he had ever told anyone. He didn’t particularly like having other people knowing his secrets, no matter how insignificant, but this was Hermione. Hermione was a special case.  
  
He glanced at her over the newspaper he was currently reading. He was sitting in the lounge room, and she was at the kitchen table with Althea, teaching the girl how to read. It was still strange for him to consider them as family. He had never wanted one, and yet, here he was, engaged to a Mudblood with his second child on the way. If Hermione and Althea had been baking cookies in matching aprons, he would have had to make sure he hadn’t been transported back to the fifties. The decade where he had actually been at the age he was posing to be in now.  
  
Grimacing, he turned back to the newspaper, letting his eyes rove over an article about the latest scandal concerning a high ranked Ministry official. However, his mind was spinning in other directions.  
  
Hermione was so young. How could she even think she could comprehend what he had been through? To a certain degree, he could agree with her that his experiences had shaped who he was. But since there was no way to change the past, there was no way he would change. He didn’t even _want_ to change. However, in the past, there had been people who had wanted to know more about him because they thought they could “help” him. Their nagging had eventually made him kill them. Since he didn’t want that to happen to Hermione, he would have to make sure she would accept who he was.  
  
Nevertheless, he had high hopes for her after last night. She had seemed to understand his need for control and power. She just wanted to know why he had that need. It was something he wasn’t sure of himself. He, however, had no problem accepting things the way they were.  
  
“No Althea, this is a cat. C A T.”  
  
He smiled behind the newspaper. It was amazing how patient his fiancée was. She and Althea had been at it for over an hour now. Even though Althea repeated the words Hermione spelt out, Voldemort was quite sure it was just because Althea had heard it and not because she could read it.  
  
“Mum, I want to see picture of snake again,” Althea whined.  
  
He heard Hermione sigh. It was around the tenth time Althea asked to see the snake picture, with the book being one of those which had an animal for every letter of the alphabet.  
  
“Fine. But you know it won’t come to life no matter how much you hiss at it,” Hermione reminded her daughter.   
  
Now it sounded like she was losing her patience. _Good,_ perhaps that meant they could finally do something he thought was fun. Voldemort decided that he would grant her the choice of what she wanted to do first—either have sex or do research.  
  
“Here it is,” Hermione said.  
  
Voldemort heard the book scraping the surface of the table, no doubt Althea was pulling it closer to get a better look. Althea had recently begun to ask her parents for a pet snake. Voldemort did miss having a snake around, but since snakes were rather controversial pets and still very associated to him, he was reluctant to give it to her. Hermione wanted to buy them a cat instead, but Althea hadn’t seemed very interested in that.  
  
“Do you think you can spell it out now?” Hermione asked her daughter.  
  
“S - N - E - K,” Althea said.  
  
“No, honey, S - N - A - K - E. Perhaps we should—”  
  
Voldemort lowered the newspaper just in time to see Hermione throw herself over the sink and vomit. In four long strides, he was at her side, holding her hair up for her. She was breathing heavily and leaning against the sink. He quickly made the vomit disappear before handing Hermione the kitchen towel. She took it and muttered something about the bathroom before disappearing into it. Voldemort sighed. Despite the rather spectacular feeling she had showed him the other night, he did not envy her for being pregnant. In fact, if anything, he was extremely relieved he wasn’t. Who would want to go around feeling things like that all the time? It seriously jeopardised the ability to think straight. No wonder the people around him had always been so much stupider than he was.  
  
His eyes fell on Althea who was sitting very still on the kitchen stool, her eyes wide in horror. He frowned.  
  
“ _What’s the matter_?” he asked in Parseltongue.  
  
“ _Is it my fault that Mum is sick?”_  
  
For a moment Voldemort thought that she was joking, but then he realised that she was genuinely concerned. He sat down next to her and took her small hands in his.  
  
“ _Of course it isn’t. Why would you believe that_?”  
  
She hesitated and looked around nervously. Voldemort felt his heart grow cold. His little girl was afraid of something, and it wasn’t him. He fell down on his knees in front of her.   
  
“ _Tell me, Althea. I won’t let anything or anyone_ _harm you and I won’t get angry with you.”_  
  
She moved closer to him, and he tilted his head so she could whisper in his ear.  
  
“ _It said that I made Mum sick because I can’t control my magic, and that_ _I had to learn how to control it so I could heal Mummy, but I don’t know how to do magic!_ ”  
  
Voldemort snapped his head back and stared at her. She looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears. He schooled his face so she wouldn’t see how angry he was. Althea was a very powerful witch, and if she tried to “help” Hermione by getting rid of her “sickness”, he had no doubt Hermione would suffer a miscarriage. It seemed like the mystery creature had struck again.  
  
“ _Your mother isn’t hexed, Althea. When you are pregnant, your body has to get used to it. You will feel a bit uncomfortable and sick,_ _but it’s natural. You haven’t done anything wrong_ ,” he explained.  
  
Althea still looked doubtful. Voldemort sighed and stroked her cheek.  
  
“ _And if there were_ _anything wrong with your mother, I would help her. Your mother means a lot to me,_ _and I don’t want to see her suffer anymore than you do. Do you understand?”_  
  
Finally, Althea nodded. Voldemort embraced her and kissed the top of her head.   
  
“ _Besides, you could never hurt your mother unless you wanted to_.” He withdrew and stared at her. “ _Do you want to hurt her_?”  
  
Althea shook her head, eyes wide.  
  
“ _There you go then_.” He stroked her hair again. Physical contact was always good when you wanted to gain someone’s trust. “ _Now, where did you hear this stupid notion_?”  
  
“ _Snake isn’t stupid!_ ” Althea objected forcefully. “ _It plays with me!_ ”  
  
Voldemort frowned. Who the hell was “snake”? Perhaps the person who wanted Hermione to have a miscarriage could take different forms?  
  
“ _No, of course not, my sweet_ ,” he reassured her softly, deciding to try to find out more information about this friend of hers. “ _However, surely your friend wouldn’t want you to hurt your mother? Perhaps it was just concerned that because_ _your mother will be getting heavier due to the child, you should be careful_ not _to hurt her_.”  
  
Althea looked thoughtful.  
  
“ _Tell you what, why don’t I do a magical trick on you that_ ’ _ll_ _let me see what this snake has_ _told you. Then we’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding,”_ Voldemort suggested in his sweetest tone.  
  
“ _What sort of magic trick?_ ” Althea asked a bit suspicious, but he could see that she was curious to see it.  
  
“ _I’ll be able to see what you are thinking_ ,” Voldemort said in a tone of excitement.  
  
“ _Is it fun_?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“ _A lot of fun_ ,” Voldemort promised. He would make sure she thought it was fun.  
  
Althea giggled. “ _Okay_.”  
  
Voldemort smiled at her and lifted his wand. Using Legilimency on children was much harder since they hadn’t yet developed an organised mind. Memories were also much fuzzier since children tended to be very egocentric; they only noticed things that were important to them. However, Voldemort had heard that it was easier to do it on children you knew well, and Althea was the child he knew best of all. Granted, you could argue that she was the only child he knew at all, but … _Oh, well_ …  
  
Nevertheless, he entered her mind much more carefully than he had ever cared to do before. He didn’t want her to be scared. At first, he let her guide him through her thoughts. At the moment, she was thinking about what a boring spell he had used; there were no sparks or flashes at all. Then, she continued to think about him. It was always amusing to see yourself through someone else’s eyes, and Voldemort had never before met anyone who viewed him like Althea did. It was amazing to see how much his daughter trusted him. She thought he was much funnier than Hermione, and she would rather turn to him with her problems than to Hermione. Voldemort snickered at that.  
  
Hold on.   
  
There was something else Althea thought about him as well. She saw him as submissive to Hermione. After all, she had only seen her mother striking him, not the other way around. Althea saw that as a sign that Hermione was the one in control. Voldemort was not amused by this. He would have to show her his strength some other day.  
  
However, that wasn’t why he was inside her mind. He slowly started to steer Althea’s thoughts into the direction of her mysterious shadow friend. That was when he met resistance. It was the same type of resistance that he had seen in Hermione’s and Weasley’s mind. The difference was that, this time, Voldemort realised where he had seen it before: Inside his daughter. After all, Althea wasn’t a mere human witch—she had a tiny trace of fairy magic inside her as well.  
  
The moment he realised, it was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Suddenly, he remembered a lot of other things as well: How the conversation with Morgana had really gone. Everything he had read about fairies after he had contacted them but had then forgotten. They had made him forget.  
  
He especially remembered one warning at the beginning of a very old book: Fairies could get inside your mind when you were sleeping and rearrange things. They could make you forget important things.  
  
They also were the ones who had been trying to cause a miscarriage. He still didn’t understand why, but that didn’t matter. He had to get to Hermione.  
  
He flew to the bathroom and threw open the door.  
  
“Voldemort! Can’t a witch pee in peace?” Hermione cried, gesturing at him to close the door.  
  
“Right,” he said, looking around the room to make sure there weren’t any fairies lurking inside. “Come back out when you are done.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “No, I had planned to go camping in the bathtub. Now, shoo!”  
  
Voldemort closed the door again, leaving her on the toilet. When he turned back to Althea, however, he saw that he had been running to protect the wrong woman.  
  
Morgana was sitting next to Althea, and they were talking. She was a bit transparent; Voldemort could see the walls through Morgana's white dress. A smile was playing on her lips, and she looked very carefree, despite the fact that he was aiming his wand at her.  
  
“Althea, come here,” Voldemort said to his daughter. He did not want Althea so close to the fairy.  
  
“But we are playing,” Althea said, pressing her lips together.  
  
“Come here, now,” Voldemort demanded.  
  
Sulking, Althea jumped off her stool and walked over to him. Voldemort took her hand in his free one, not taking his eyes from Morgana.  
  
“What did you do to us?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“You already know, Tom Riddle,” Morgana said and winked.  
  
He counted backwards from ten. Trying to kill the fairy would do no good. Any spell he cast would just go right through her.   
  
“Why, then? Why would you make us forget?”  
  
“We only wanted you not to worry about things you can’t control,” Morgana said in a comforting voice.  
  
“What is this?” Hermione had exited the bathroom and came up to him, staring at Morgana.  
  
“You remember Morgana?” Voldemort asked, not taking his eyes of the fairy. “She is the one who has tried to kill our baby. It’s fairy magic that is inside your mind as well as Weasley’s.”  
  
“What? But the fairies are nothing but …” Hermione trailed off.  
  
Voldemort looked at her and watched the realisation hit her. She remembered the truth now as well. All it took was a little hint in the right direction to have all the walls collapse that the fairies had put up in her brain. It seemed like the fairies’ memory charms weren’t as strong as the Wizarding kind. Then again, they didn’t have magic in this world.  
  
Wait.   
  
If they didn’t have magic in this world, then how come they had managed to do a memory charm at all? A wizard or a witch had to be helping them. _But who?_ Fairies needed specific instructions on what sort of magic they could use because they needed to canalise the magic through the magical being they were working with. Who on earth would care whether Hermione and Voldemort remembered that the fairies were bad news or not? And why had the spell been so weak if the fairies had got the permission to use their magic from a magical being? They were not weak. Just look at the new body they had given him!  
  
Unless they used a magical being who was connected both to them and to the real world. Someone they could always use, without having permission.  
  
“So that’s why you need Althea,” Voldemort said softly. “You want your power back.”  
  
Morgana giggled. “Clever Tom Riddle. Then again, you understand everything about the need for power. Can you blame us?”  
  
“Blame you? No, I suppose not,” Voldemort said thoughtfully.  
  
“Voldemort?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. “What is going on?”  
  
Voldemort ignored her; his focus was on Morgana. “But I am going to stop you. I don’t want any fairies in my world.”  
  
“ _Your_ world, Tom Riddle?” Morgana asked, amused. She floated closer towards them. “This was our world long before you and your kind even learned how to use magic. We merely want to come back to it.”  
  
Voldemort sneered. “I’m sure you do. But why would I allow it? You are nothing but trouble. Merlin imprisoned you for a reason.”  
  
Morgana shrugged. “Be that as it may, how do you think you are going to stop us? The only way to do that would be to sever our connection.”  
  
He looked down at Althea and then up to Morgana again. “You don’t think I can do it? Have you got any idea who I am?”  
  
The gasp from Hermione told him she had figured it out as well. The only way to stop the fairies was to kill Althea. She was their connection to the world. It was relatively easy. He had killed hundreds before, including his own family. It shouldn’t be any more difficult to kill Althea.  
  
“Daddy? What’s going on?” Althea’s voice was trembling. She seemed to feel the tension as well. Hermione had fallen down on her knees and was hugging her daughter tightly; her wand in her hand, she was ready to cast a protective shield if necessary. Her eyes shifted between Voldemort and Morgana, with an unspoken vow promising lots of pain if anyone dared to hurt her daughter.  
  
Voldemort looked down at Althea again. His sweet, little girl. She was staring at him with her big, brown eyes—so similar to Hermione’s.   
  
Salazar, Hermione was going to try to kill him again if he tried to harm Althea. He would lose her for good then. He would lose his whole family, and he didn’t want that. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that he really didn’t want that.  
  
And why would Lord Voldemort do something he didn’t want to?  
  
“You are still weak,” he remarked, looking back at Morgana. “What is it you are waiting for? For her to grow up? Or is it something else?”  
  
Morgana’s face revealed nothing.  
  
“You have come here often and played with Althea. Why would you do that?” he mused.  
  
“Althea wanted a friend,” Morgana said in a soft voice. “I would never deny a child a playmate.”  
  
Next to him, Hermione growled. “But you can kill one?”  
  
Morgana's smile disappeared. Quicker than a human ever could, she moved up to Hermione, stopping a mere inch in front of her. The fairy was much taller, and Hermione had to bend her head backwards to see into Morgana’s unreadable face.  
  
“We worry for Althea, even though you clearly don't.” The fairy's voice wasn't higher than a whisper, and yet, it seemed to fill the room. “Althea is pure, while the child in your stomach will be corrupted by him.” She moved back a bit, making a gesture with her head towards Voldemort but keeping her eyes at Hermione. “They will turn against each other, your children.”  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. “And why should we believe anything you say?”  
  
Morgana's eyes turned cold, and she floated backwards in the room. “You have become dark, Hermione Granger. That child—” She pointed at Hermione's stomach. “—will be just as dark as you two. Althea is the only pure one left. We will look after her and make sure she stays that way. And you can't stop us.”  
  
“Actually, we can,” Voldemort said, his mind working quickly. There were spells to keep them out. He knew it.  
  
“More Dark Arts, Tom Riddle?” Morgana looked almost amused and then turned to Hermione again. “If you let him do it, that will only prove how dark you have got and how much Althea needs us to remain pure.”  
  
She dissolved into thin air. Looking pale, Hermione stared after her for several seconds before turning to Voldemort. “What Dark Arts?”  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “Now, I remember everything I’ve read about fairies. Since they are not really from this world, they can come and go as they please, in any form or shape. They can get inside our head while we are sleeping and make us forget this conversation ever took place. But I do know a way to stop them from entering a certain area. However, it involves, ah, blood magic.”  
  
Hermione paled. He wasn’t surprised. Blood magic was as dark as you could get. It was a great taboo within the Wizarding World.  
  
“Dad?” Althea's voice broke through Hermione's thoughts. “What did that shadow-friend-lady mean?”  
  
Their daughter was wearing a confused look on her face. Voldemort crouched down next to her.  
  
“She wants to take you away from us,” Voldemort said in a very serious voice. “But we don't want you to leave us, so we told her she couldn't. I think she has been playing with you so you would come with her. Do you want to leave us, Althea?”  
  
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Hermione scowling at him. Apparently, she didn’t approve of him manipulating Althea’s emotions. Ah, well.  
  
“I don't want to leave. Mum?” She turned to Hermione who quickly sat down and pulled her daughter into a hug.  
  
“You don't have to leave, love,” Hermione mumbled, but she did play along with him. “But we are worried that you would like to go with your shadow friend if you continue to play with her. And we don't want to lose you.”  
  
Althea hugged her tightly and sobbed into Hermione's shirt. Hermione patted her back, and once again, Voldemort could see that she was worried about what Morgana had said.  
  
“She is just trying to scare us,” Voldemort said in a low voice. “And I won’t have to kill anyone. They were the ones that wanted to kill our unborn child. That must mean that child can somehow get in the way of their plan. I’ll make sure it does.”  
  
Hermione still looked worried. He could see what she was thinking. Both their children would be influenced by him, and there was only so much she could do to stop his darkness from spreading to them.  
  
“Hermione.” Voldemort tilted her chin upwards. “We need to do something to keep them away. Do you have a better suggestion?”  
  
Hermione shook her head and looked down at the floor. “Let's talk about this later. We need to focus on Althea now.”  
  
Voldemort sighed but agreed.

 

xxx

  
“She has probably been here the entire time,” Hermione stated in a low voice.   
  
Voldemort didn't need her to clarify. His thoughts had also been on the fairy for the last hour. It had taken them that long to calm Althea down and make her promise not to talk to her shadow friend who wanted to take her away.  
  
“It does seem likely,” he muttered, serving them both some tea while glancing at Althea. The girl was sitting on the couch, playing with Koka, the flying plush snake toy. “But there was no way for us to detect her. They can turn into air if they wish it.”  
  
“Why haven't we remembered earlier? Now that I know, it is so obvious that it was them all the time.”  
  
“The mind is a fascinating thing, kitten,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “As long as ideas have some place to grow, it can create very real illusions about the world. That’s how Muggles are able to believe there is no such thing as magic. If they see something that can contradict it, they make something up, like: ‘It was only the wind.’ or ‘I must have been dreaming.’. Silly, little people.”  
  
“Yes, because you are such a realist, Mr I-will-live-forever-and-take-over-the-world.” Hermione snorted.  
  
He smiled at her. “What makes you so sure I won’t live forever and take over the world?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Right, you are impossible—I forgot. But back to the fairies: Do you think they changed something else? Do we believe something else that isn’t true?”  
  
“I don’t think they would risk altering too much. And there are things they want that we would never do, no matter how much they alter our minds. Like in the case of Ronald, they can't force us to do something we would never do. Only … encourage us.”  
  
“What do they want, then?”  
  
Voldemort looked at her, surprised she hadn’t realised it already. “Althea, of course.”  
  
Hermione glanced at their daughter, sitting on the couch. “But how can Althea help them? Morgana said something about her being a connection, but to what?”  
  
Voldemort hesitated.  
  
“She is my daughter, too, Voldemort,” Hermione said, her voice hard. “If you know something that I don’t …”  
  
Voldemort snorted. “I know, kitten, you’ll pull out your claws and scratch me bloody. There is no need for that, though. I think the fairies want to use Althea and her magical link to them to be able to use magic in this world again without having to rely on the permission of a witch.”  
  
Hermione sat quiet. “But how come they can’t do that already? They clearly have some influence over her.”  
  
“Don’t know. Maybe she is too young. Maybe the link between them is too weak. All I know is that we can’t let them meet anymore. We have to seal off the flat from them entering, and there is only one way to do that.”  
  
“Blood Magic,” Hermione stated, not sounding at all happy about the prospect.  
  
“With Blood Magic we can make sure that no being can enter without our permission.”  
  
“How?”  
  
He weighed his words carefully. “We would have to draw a line, using our blood, around the entire flat. Then, there is a spell that will make it active for as long as the line is unbroken.”  
  
“Our blood?” Hermione looked disgusted.  
  
“Yes. That is, if you want to be able to invite people over yourself. I could use only my own blood, but then I would have to be the one to invite your friends over.” He smiled. “Now that I think about it—”  
  
“Don't,” she growled. “If we do this, we do this together.”  
  
He smirked but nodded. She wasn't saying no. Once she had thought it over, she would agree. He only had to give her a little time to think.  
  
“Won't people ask questions when there is blood on the walls?”  
  
He shook his head. “Making it invisible will be simple enough. However, we'll have to remember where it is so we don't accidentally destroy it. I suggest we draw the line high up on the walls. It doesn't matter where it is, just as long as it surrounds the whole flat.”  
  
“Won't that take an awful lot of blood?”   
  
She still sounded suspicious, but he could see desperation in her eyes. She wanted to do something. She kept glancing nervously at Althea.  
  
“It only has to be a thin line, and it will be mixed with a potion. At most, half a cup from each of us.”  
  
She looked down at her tea again. “I want to read about it myself.”  
  
“Very well, I have the book in the bedroom.” He rose.  
  
Her head snapped up. “You have books about The Dark Arts in our bedroom?”  
  
He shrugged. “Where else would I put them? Don't worry, they don't bite, and I have them hidden where no one will ever find them. Not even you.” With a wink, he turned around and went to the bedroom.  
  
He closed the door before opening his secret library. The hiding place might not be the most original; it was behind a painting Hermione had demanded to have on the wall. However, if anyone but him lifted the painting, they would see nothing more than the white wall behind it.  He cast the spell that would reveal it and quickly pulled out the book he needed before recasting the spell that hid it. After making sure the painting hang straight, he went back to Hermione.  
  
“What’s that, Dad?” Althea asked, looking up as he passed her.  
  
“A book,” Voldemort replied.  
  
“Does it have a princess in it?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
Voldemort remembered the potion in the book that required the eyes of someone royal. Probably not such a good idea to tell Althea about that in front of her mother. “No, it’s not that kind of book, dear.”  
  
Disappointed, Althea turned back to her toys.   
  
Voldemort put the book down on the table in front of Hermione. “Here you are.” He opened the book to the right chapter and pointed it out to her. “I suggest you read nothing more than these few pages. Some of the spells in this book would undoubtedly give you nightmares.”  
  
She stared at him darkly. “Tortured. Thrice,” was all she said before turning to the book.  
  
If he had wanted to give her perspective, he would have mentioned the countless times he had been tortured. However, he knew that she would only ask for details, and thinking back to those moments always gave him a very strong urge to kill. Actually, he already felt a bit homicidal. Hermione had better agree to this ritual. Otherwise, he would have no choice but to leave tonight, promise or not. The whole fairy deal was the complete opposite to what he needed.  
  
He hadn't even had any sex yet!  
  
“The other ingredients in the potion or whatever you call it are quite common,” Hermione noted.  
  
“I know. I can get all of them in just ten minutes.”  
  
She looked up at him, frowning. “You have already decided to do this.”  
  
“Yes. I do not want my memories tampered with, do you? However, since the enchantment makes it impossible for the uninvited to cross the threshold, you will notice when you try bringing someone over. I don't want that to become a scene so I’d rather have you work with me.”  
  
“How nice of you,” she muttered and turned back to the text.  
  
It took her ten minutes to finish. Then, she looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. “Besides the fact that it takes blood to do it, it doesn't seem so dark.”  
  
He snorted. “Well, what did you expect? That we needed to start killing babies to have a simple yet powerful protection enchantment? Not all Dark Arts are used to create misery, you know.”  
  
“But it's not really created to spread happiness either,” she remarked.  
  
“Neither is a Stunning Spell,” he retorted but then added thoughtfully, “except for the audience, of course.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “And there are no nasty side effects?”  
  
“No. Well, I do have to pierce the skin to draw some blood. But other than a faint mark, there are no side effects,” he reassured her.  
  
She was about to nod, but then she suddenly paused. “Wait. I'm pregnant.”  
  
“I know. I made you pregnant.”  
  
She rolled her eyes again. “No, I mean, do you know if anything can happen to the foetus? Or will he or she also be able to invite people over once born?”  
  
He frowned. “I highly doubt anything would happen to the foetus since it’s your blood we’ll take. Also, since the blood of the mother and the child doesn’t truly mix, the baby won’t have that ability.”  
  
“I guess you are right.” She glanced down at the text. “Well, we better get started then. The potion takes three hours to simmer.”  
  
Voldemort smiled in victory. He was very pleased with her. This was yet another step she was taking in the right direction. Which meant towards his line of thinking. Oh, yes, she was turning out nicely indeed.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Shan84 and Nerys for taking the time to betaing this chapter!

**Chapter 28**  
  
Once they had discovered that it was the fairy that was behind everything, Hermione and Voldemort became even more determined to find out as much as possible about their bond. They both believed that it would be the best way to discover what was so special with the new child, and why the fairies had singled them out to be parents to the child they wanted. Was it only because Voldemort had made a deal with them? But why had the fairies even offered to help him if they thought he was such bad influence? It didn’t make sense. It had to have something to do with their Shared Flame.  
  
They decided to see if they could find any other couples with a Shared Flame and ask about their experiences. However, finding other couples proved much harder than they had thought. The author, Bäcker, had only written down the age and country in where he had encountered the couples, and it was akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Hence, they focused on finding out more about Bäcker and where he had been.  
  
In February, Hermione, who had the best knowledge of the Muggle world and was open to actually talk with Muggles, managed to find where he had lived. Alas, the place had been torn down already, but she found where Bäcker’s daughter, Mrs Grindelwald, had lived. Since she had been Bäcker’s only child, they hoped that she had kept something of her father.  
  
It was an early Thursday morning, the second week of February. Hermione was having a wonderful day since her morning sickness had finally ended. Voldemort also seemed relieved, but his only comment about her entering the second trimester was that the risk for miscarriage had decreased significantly.  
  
They Apparated to the countryside of Germany near the Alps where Mrs Grindelwald had lived alone in a cabin. Since the Grindelwalds had been childless, Mrs Grindelwald’s mother’s nephew had inherited it. The nephew, Hermione had found out, was a rich businessman who used the cabin as a holiday home during the summer. Hermione and Voldemort hoped that he hadn’t got rid of any of his aunt’s old things.  
  
The cabin was bigger than they had expected. The nephew seemed to have renovated the bigger part of the cabin, and Hermione doubted they would find anything worthwhile in there.  
  
“There has to be an attic,” Voldemort said when they had searched the whole cabin without any results. “It looked much bigger from the outside.”  
  
Hermione started to search the ceiling. In the hall she found a hatchway in the ceiling with a hole big enough to put a hand through. “Over here!”  
  
Voldemort went over to her and managed to pull down a ladder that lead up to an attic filled with boxes and old furniture.  
  
“I guess we have our work cut out for us,” Hermione muttered when she noticed even more boxes hiding behind a big wardrobe.  
  
“Be thankful they haven’t thrown anything away,” Voldemort replied. “At least now we have a chance to find something belonging to Bäcker.”  
  
Hermione sighed and started to dig through the boxes. At least the person storing them seemed to have some sense of organisation. Each box was filled with the same sort of things. Thus, she could just push away the ones with old clothes, china and toys much faster and focus on the ones with books and papers. However, when she ran across a box with old baby clothes, she paused.  
  
“Shouldn’t we start buying things for the baby?” she asked, looking back at Voldemort who was sitting a yard away, rapidly going through a box of old newspapers.  
  
“Mm, I guess,” he answered without looking up.  
  
“And not to mention the other things. I mean, I haven’t even started to think about names yet,” Hermione continued, pushing the box with clothes away and moving onto her knees to search the next one. She heard Voldemort pushing his box away as well, moving to another.  
  
“Me neither. Shouldn’t we wait until we know what gender it is?” he replied.  
  
“Thinking about it doesn’t hurt,” Hermione said. “It took me weeks to figure out what to call Althea. When she was born, the nurses just said ‘Baby Granger’.”  
  
“Right. Both children will have your last name.”  
  
Hermione turned and looked at him. He was sitting with his hands in a box with some books but was looking at her with an unreadable face.  
  
“Since I’ll have the child before we get married, yes. Why?” she asked.  
  
“You plan to take my name after we are married?” he asked.  
  
She frowned. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Hermione Foster. Or did you mean Riddle?”  
  
Voldemort snorted. “Yes, because that won’t be suspicious at all.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I just meant, it’s not your real last name. Perhaps you could change to mine?”  
  
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “No. I think it would be better if we just kept our respective surnames. Marcus Foster is already famous, as is Hermione Granger. Althea and,” he nodded at her stomach, “can have a combined last name.”  
  
“Sounds good,” she said and turned back to the next box. Then, another thought hit her. “Why don’t I call you Tom?”  
  
She could hear Voldemort pick out more books. “Because you know that I’ll make you regret it profoundly if you did.”  
  
“Still, if anyone were to overhear me call you Tom, I could just say I made a mistake,” Hermione reasoned, turning to him again. “If they hear me say Voldemort, it will be rather hard to explain. Or, if Althea or the new baby hears me call you it too often, they may pick it up and call you that as well.”  
  
He looked up. “Althea can’t say it front of others any more than you can. And I’m perfectly convinced you will not screw up and call me by the wrong name. However, if you call me Tom, I’ll—”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure you will rip my tongue out and feed it to the cat and all that,” Hermione interrupted him dismissively. “And you can’t just throw spells on our children, Voldemort. It isn’t right.”  
  
“It doesn’t hurt Althea. She just can’t say my name in front of others.”  
  
Hermione didn’t like it one bit but didn’t know what to do about it right now. She would have to convince him later on that there was a better way for them to deal with it. Perhaps she should start calling him Voldemort when they were alone? She could probably call him Marcus in front of Althea and the new baby if it were absolutely necessary. Then again, was it right that they wouldn’t get to know their father’s true identity?  
  
Hermione hadn’t thought too much about it before. However, now that she did, she realised that she didn’t want to tell Althea all about her father’s evil deeds. How could a child carry that knowledge?  
  
Still, it felt weird lying to their children about Voldemort’s name being Marcus when it really was Tom. Why couldn’t she just call him Tom?  
  
“Why do you hate your name so much?” she asked.  
  
“It is not my name,” he answered, sounding annoyed. “It’s the name of the worthless man who fertilised my mother. My name is Voldemort.”  
  
“Which just is an anagram for Tom Riddle,” Hermione commented dryly.  
  
His expression darkened, and she could see his wand-hand twitch. Hermione realised she had just crossed a line and that he would no doubt do something stupid if she didn’t calm him down. Normally, she would have been too proud to admit that she had made a mistake. However, when dealing with a known murderer, she didn’t want to risk an innocent Muggle’s life because of her pride.  
  
“Sorry,” she said, sighing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious.”  
  
He regarded her intensely for a moment. Then he seemed to relax a little. “Just try to find something of Bäcker.”  
  
They went through a couple of more boxes before they stumbled over something of importance.  
  
“Aha! An early copy of his book,” Voldemort said, withdrawing a whole file of papers from a box.  
  
“Does it say anything?” Hermione asked.  
  
Voldemort thumbed through it. “Not anything that stands out. A few pages have been crossed over. I’ll take it home and see if there is anything to find. It’s probably just corrections of errors and what not.”  
  
He shrugged, shrunk the file and put it in his pocket.   
  
Hermione didn’t like stealing, but judging by the amount of dust on the boxes, no one had been here for quite some time. She didn’t think anyone would miss it. Besides, it could possibly help them protect their children. Surely stealing something could be justified then?  
  
They searched the rest of the attic, but all they found that had belonged to Bäcker were some old family heirlooms and photo albums, which was of no use for their research. Thus, they went home, Hermione not feeling very hopeful at all. Voldemort, however, decided to go through the draft of the book line by line.  
  
“This is interesting,” Voldemort said later that night when they were sitting on the couch.  
  
Hermione, who had been studying, looked up from her book. “What is?”  
  
“Bäcker crossed out a whole page of the book where he made a reference about the children of Shared Flame couples. He discovered that two couples didn’t have the children together; they were from other marriages. But because of politics and what not, they pretended that they had the children together.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.  
  
“It could be nothing. Bäcker only discovered this in regard to two couples. There were still two more that appeared to have children together. He wasn’t interested in the children, so he left that part out. It was the connection between the two with a Shared Flame he wanted to study.” Voldemort looked thoughtful. “I guess we’ll just have to ask if we ever find anyone else with a Shared Flame.”  
  
“Still no names?” Hermione asked, defeated.  
  
Voldemort shook his head. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll find them. Just be patient.”  
  
Hermione could be patient, but since this was about the welfare of her children, she’d rather not have it take too long.

 

xxx

  
Alas, the search for answers about their Shared Flame progressed slowly after they had visited the cabin. As spring progressed, other things kept getting in the way. School took up a lot of time for both of them, and then, there were the preparations for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. Hermione hadn’t counted on how much time that would take.  
  
Then, there was one thing that Hermione hadn’t counted on at all: Althea being defiant.  
  
“I don’t want a dress!”  
  
Hermione winced when her daughter’s high-pitched scream carried over the entire store. An older Muggle woman gave Hermione a smile of sympathy before hurrying away. Thankfully, it was still early in the morning and there weren’t that many customers in the clothes store for children.  
  
“Can’t you at least have a look at the dresses?” Hermione asked Althea, trying her best not to lose patience with the child. It was good that Voldemort hadn’t wanted to come to the Muggle world to help getting them dresses for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. He would no doubt have killed someone by now. Ever since Althea had lost her shadow friend, she had become more and more disobedient. Hermione thought it was because Althea was lonely, but she didn’t know what to do about it.  
  
“I don’t want a dress; they’re ugly!” Althea’s face was twisted into an angry mask.  
  
“You’ll only have to wear it for one day. I will be wearing a dress, too,” Hermione said, massaging her temples. She did not have the patience for this right now. She had hoped that the shopping would only take an hour so that she would be able to go to the library the moment Voldemort came home from his meeting. She had an essay to write. It was due the very next week, and she hadn’t even started yet. Never had she been so late to start on an essay, and the thought that she might not make it really stressed her. It didn’t help that she hadn’t got the sleep she required for the past week either. Her libido was out of control, and Voldemort was more than happy to take advantage of that.  
  
“I don’t want to!” Althea screamed again, stamping her foot on the ground.  
  
Hermione snapped. “Sometimes in life you have to do things you don’t want to, Althea. Either look for a dress you like or I’ll do it for you.”  
  
Althea gaped at her mother’s angry tone. For a moment, only shock was evident on her face. Then her eyes began to fill with tears. Hermione cursed and took a deep breath, counting backwards from ten.  
  
“Just look at the dresses, Althea. The sooner you have chosen one, the sooner we can go back home,” Hermione said slowly, making sure not to sound as angry as she had before.  
  
The girl lowered her head and walked down one of the many aisles. Hermione could hear her sobbing, and even though it pained her, she knew Althea would get over it in due time. Althea had to learn that she couldn’t always have her way. Voldemort was the worst example when it came to that.  
  
After five minutes, Althea had found a plain blue dress, which she held up at Hermione. It seemed to be suitable enough, so Hermione didn’t press her luck by asking Althea to try it on. Instead, she made sure they had the right size and went to buy it. If it turned out it didn’t fit, they could always return it and … do this again.  
  
Hermione grimaced. Then again, with magic, they would probably be able to do any alternation necessary. Somehow, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if Voldemort turned out to be a great tailor as well. After all, he always wore stylish clothing, but she had never seen him come home with any shopping bags.  
  
Thankfully, Althea didn’t argue when Hermione took her to the tailor Ginny had hired to make all the bridesmaids’ dresses.  It was the final fitting before the wedding and only a few changes needed to be made.  
  
“You can pick it up in three days,” the friendly tailor said with a big smile as Hermione and Althea were about to leave.  
  
“Thank you, I’ll be back then,” Hermione promised.  
  
Once they had found an empty ally, Hermione took Althea’s hand and Apparated them both away. Lately, Althea seemed to have worked up a tolerance for Apparating and no longer required a Calming Spell. Therefore, once they arrived home, Althea was free to just stalk into her room and slam the door shut. Hermione closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten again.  
  
“I take it the trip wasn’t a success?”  
  
She looked over her shoulder and saw Voldemort sitting on the couch, surrounded with scrolls. She walked over and fell down in one of the armchairs, feeling exhausted.  
  
“No,” she replied shortly. It would have been very nice to get a massage right now. However, if she asked for a massage, then that would lead to sex, and she really had to get started on the essay.  
  
But surely, she could rest for at least five minutes?  
  
“Is something wrong with the wedding or was it Althea?” Voldemort asked, glancing up at her. Hermione knew he was not happy with Althea’s sudden defiance, but he was handling it better than she had dared to hope.  
  
“Althea,” she said, but then, to get his thoughts away from their daughter, she added: “The wedding will be even more interesting now though. Ginny is pregnant.”  
  
“I know,” he just said, turning back to the scroll in front of him.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “You know?”  
  
“Yes, I figured it out at the Christmas dinner. Didn’t I tell you?” He didn’t take his eyes from the scroll.  
  
“No, you didn’t,” Hermione said sourly. What was the use of a clever fiancé if he didn’t tell her these things?  
  
“Ah, well, I must have forgotten with everything else that happened that night,” Voldemort muttered.  
  
“I guess,” Hermione hesitated. “Ron will be at the wedding, though. The Healers will release him soon. They have managed to undo the brainwash.”  
  
Voldemort looked up, his expression grim. “I hope I don’t have to tell you to stay away from him?”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not all that happy with him, brainwashed or not. Don’t worry. Although, I think we should have another talk about you not forbidding me to see my friends.”  
  
“I’m only trying to protect you, kitten,” he said and turned back to his scroll. “We can talk about it later, if you want to. Now I need to work.”  
  
Hermione didn’t say anything; she wasn’t angry or surprised that he wanted her to stay away from Ron. But it wouldn’t have hurt if he had said it in a different way and not ordered her to do it. It was so … typical Lord Voldemort.  
  
She sighed and glanced down at the scroll he was reading. It was lying flat in front of him on the coffee table, an empty teacup weighting it down at the top. She guessed it was one of her classmates’ essays. The students who studied full-time had turned their essays in the day before. She really ought to get started with hers.  
  
Yet, she kept still in the armchair, watching him as he read the essay. She could see his eyes move over the text, but no thoughts were visible on his face. Whose essay was he reading? Was it any good? If it weren’t, how did he keep his patience? Hermione knew how hard it was to keep your patience when the students just wouldn’t learn. And she had only dealt with Harry and Ron.  
  
Right then, Voldemort looked up. “Is there anything else you want?”  
  
Merlin, he was hot when he said that. She could think of several things she wanted. Most of them included him, naked, in various positions.  
  
Her thoughts must have been clear in her expression because a smirk spread over Voldemort’s face and he stood up. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he dragged her up as well. Without another word being exchanged, they went to the bedroom. Needless to say, Hermione didn’t make it to the library until much later that day.

 

xxx

  
The last week before the wedding was a nightmare. Hermione burst into tears three times because of stress. Voldemort hated it when she cried, and she knew it. Therefore, she always looked so disappointed when he tried to get her to think better thoughts. The last two times, she had just walked away from him and he had found her curled up on the bed afterwards, staring into the wall.  
  
It wasn’t like it was his fault she was crying, so why did she take it out on him?  
  
He hated it. The crying, the disappointment, the moping. He especially hated that nothing he did seemed to help. Instead, everything he did seemed to make her want to get farther away from him. _Why?_  
  
Okay, maybe that was a stupid question. She would hardly be the first person who tried to get away from him. No, the real question was: _Why now?_  
  
Perhaps it had to do with Althea. Salazar, what was he supposed to do with that child? Ever since he and Hermione had made it impossible for the fairies to enter, her behaviour had become harder and harder to deal with. That afternoon it was particularly bad.  
  
“It’s not stupid; it’s a way for you to control your magic,” Voldemort growled at Althea when she just wouldn’t follow his orders.  
  
“It’s stupid! You are stupid!” Althea’s very clever insult had been spoken in English for a change.  
  
“If you don’t do it, you’ll end up hurting someone.”  
  
“No, I won’t.”   
  
This was followed by a magical outbreak, which smashed all the windows in their kitchen. Hermione then started to cry not soon after that.  
  
Later that night, Voldemort was still too frustrated to fall asleep. He turned to his right and looked at his sleeping fiancée who was lying on her back next to him. Strays of curly brown hair were lying over her face. He brushed them aside and noted how sweaty she was. With a grimace, he brushed his fingers against the sheet. Her body’s increased production of fluids seemed to be yet another effect from the pregnancy. Besides the sweat and the tears, she seemed to be peeing more than a normal person did. On the good side, though, she was also much wetter when they had sex.  
  
His eyes wandered over her body. Her stomach was getting bigger, even though he doubted anyone had noticed it. She also had a much more attractive aura surrounding her. When they were alone, this was not a problem. But when they were with others …  
  
Hermione hadn’t noticed that other men were watching her lately. But Voldemort noticed. So far, no one had ever been so bold to talk with her or touch her. If they did, he would have to step in.  
  
That was why he wasn’t looking forward to the wedding in two days. Hermione had showed him the azure dress she would be wearing. It was knee-length, showed quite a bit of cleavage and hugged her body perfectly. In short, she was perfectly fuckable in the dress. And he wouldn’t be the only one to notice it.  
  
Voldemort felt a surge of anger and sat up. How could he be expected not to kill everyone who looked at her with lust-filled eyes?  
  
He cursed and rolled out of bed. Of course he knew he couldn’t kill them. Even though it would be a great way for the world to see the return of the Dark Lord, it was not yet time. In fact, the longer he stayed with Hermione, the more he started to get the feeling that it might never be time. If he did regain power again, people would once again try to find his weaknesses and …  
  
The anger in his chest grew into a great fire. He needed to get out. He needed to hunt. He needed relief.  
  
It only took him a swish of his wand to get dressed, and without a second glance at the sleeping woman who he had promised never to kill again, he silently Apparated away.  
  
London.   
  
Breathing in the fumes of the city, he was reminded of the first time he had hunted on the streets of London. It had been the first place where he had hunted at all. It was never hard to find victims here—despite the late hour. He only had to be patient.  
  
Now that he was out, the anger transformed into ice-cold determination. He could feel his heart slowing down as his whole body relaxed. He took in his environment. Tall, dark buildings surrounded him. The light was on inside a pub, and he could hear the sound of high voices coming from inside. Drunks. Hardly worth the effort. He spied down the street and saw a woman coming towards him. Despite the cold, she was wearing fishnets and a short skirt. She had a jacket buttoned up to her throat, but it couldn’t hide her enormous bosom. Even from a distance, Voldemort could see that she was wearing heavy make-up. Definitely a whore.  
  
He looked around but didn’t notice a procurer anywhere. That hopefully meant she was alone. Good. Whores were quite hard to hunt. They knew which men to stay away from and were usually not afraid to use any means necessary to get away from them. They fought dirty.  
  
He would have to be careful not to show his true intentions. Therefore, he looked out over the street, faking a nervous expression. He bit his lip and let his eyes flicker from left to right as he constantly changed the positions of his hands.  
  
“Hullo, love.”   
  
Excellent, the woman had come up to him.   
  
“Fancy a bit of company?”  
  
He looked down at her (even in her stilettos, he was taller than her), pretending to be unsure, yet willing. “Erhm, I dunno. Er…”  
  
Her red-painted lips curved into a smile. “No need to worry, love. Come with me.” She placed her hand on his arm and steered him into an ally.  
  
The moment they were out of sight from the street, he gripped her around the throat. He saw a flash of surprise in her eyes before he Apparated them to a more private place. She fell onto the ground when he let go of her.  
  
“Thank you, _love,_ for making this so easy for me,” he taunted her and took a few steps away.  
  
She looked around the small dark room, fear and shock evident on her face. “Wha… whe…?”  
  
He chuckled darkly. “Do not worry. I, like every other man, am just looking for some pleasure and amusement in my life. And I do hope you are a screamer. _Crucio!_ ”  
  
She did scream. However, he had only held her under the spell for half a minute when something unexpected happened. Blood started to pour out from between the woman’s legs. He didn’t even realise he had released her from the spell until her screams lessened to sobs. Now, he could also make out what she was saying.  
  
“Please … please don’t … I’m … pregnant.”  
  
He stared at her, but it was no longer the face with the heavy make-up he saw. It was Hermione’s face.  
  
Why was it all of a sudden so hard to breathe? Had all the air in the room disappeared? Had someone hit him with a spell? He had to breathe!  
  
Somehow, he managed to take a deep breath. And then another. The blood was racing around inside his head, making him deaf for everything but the sound of his own heart. He didn’t remember the last time his heart had been beating this rapidly. Nor could he remember feeling like this. His hands were cold and yet sweaty. There was a feeling of pressure over his chest and back, making breathing much harder than it usually was. His head was pounding, and his legs felt weak.  
  
She had done this. Somehow, the whore had done this to him. He had to stop her. He had to kill her.  
  
But as he raised his wand at the whore and she flinched, he once again saw Hermione’s face. The disappointed look she had given him so often these past few days.  
  
“ _Obliviate_!”   
  
The spell he cried out was a different from the one which he had first thought of. However, it would have to do. The woman would wake up the next morning with no memory of what had happened, and she’d run to the nearest doctor.  
  
With a growl, he Apparated back home. He felt … dirty. It was not a way he was used to feeling, but he desperately craved a shower. However, no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t remove the picture in his mind of the blood that had been running from between her legs and he kept seeing Hermione’s face instead of hers with it. Why couldn’t he stop seeing it?  
  
He stepped out of the shower and blinked when he saw Hermione standing in the opening to the bedroom with a very grave expression on her face. Her arms were crossed over her naked chest.  
  
“Where have you been?” There was so much accusation behind her words.  
  
He scowled and walked past her. “I didn’t kill anyone. I just needed to go out.”  
  
“Needed?”  
  
“Yes. Why aren’t you asleep?” He threw the towel over the back of the chair standing in the corner of the room.  
  
“I couldn’t when I saw that you were gone.” She stepped closer to him. The accusation in her face had turned into worry. “What’s wrong?”  
  
He didn't answer. He wasn't sure himself. All he knew was that it felt like he was caged. What disturbed him the most was the fact that he had made the cage himself. He had made himself another persona so he would be safe to search for an alternate way to gain immortality and rule the world. But again and again, he had been side-tracked by something else. And now it felt like he was completely losing his focus on what was important in life. More power had always been the most important thing for him. Now, he had suddenly started to want other things just as much as he wanted power and it was … unsettling. What were his priorities?  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione came up to him and carefully placed her hand on his. When he looked at her, she slowly tugged him towards the bed.  
  
“Come on, you need to relax,” she said almost tenderly.  
  
He frowned, wondering what she had in mind. Although, both he and Hermione naked in bed together could only lead to very relaxing things, and thus, he allowed himself to be pushed into bed. He desperately needed something else to think about. However, he was mildly surprised when she pushed him down on his stomach. His cock couldn't enter her from that direction.  
  
Her intentions became clearer when she retrieved the massage oil he had got for Christmas and  she sat down on top of his arse. A massage. He couldn't remember ever receiving one. Although, they sounded pleasurable enough. He could always roll them over and take command if it weren't.  
  
Hermione’s small hands started to stroke his back, from neck to the bottom. Then she began kneading, slowly and methodically. Voldemort closed his eyes and let out a sigh. It was pleasurable. Especially because it was her, he guessed. The pleasure their skin-to-skin contact gave him overwhelmed the fact that she sometimes used a little too much pressure. However, it wasn’t the usual I-need-to-bury-my-cock-in-you pleasure, but a more relaxing sort. Of course, he still wanted to fuck her ruthlessly once this was over, but until then, he didn’t mind just lying here.  
  
Her hands seemed to magically make most of his confusion disappear. This was why he allowed himself to be side-tracked after all. Having Hermione by his side made the sacrifices he had to make worth it. After all, she was the best follower he could ever hope to have, and he didn’t have to be a Dark Lord to have her.  
  
Okay, so she might not be a follower like the Death Eaters had been, but she did his bidding much better than any of them had ever done. Besides the fact that she constantly made him more powerful, she was also able to assist him in matters of the mind. She was clever and structured, resourceful and trustworthy.  
  
Yes, trustworthy.   
  
Even though he would never trust anyone completely, Hermione was probably the person he trusted the most. Of course, there would always be that small voice in the back of his head reminding him to keep her under supervision. She was friends with some of his enemies and could betray him to them. But he found it highly unlikely that she would. Not only was she the mother of his children, she was about to become his wife.  She was also under the hex that kept her from saying anything that would reveal his true identity to others.  
  
Voldemort’s thoughts were interrupted when Hermione started to knead his buttocks. The pleasure was quite rapidly changing to the aroused kind. Yet, he didn’t want to turn around and take control. He wanted to know what she planned to do when she was done with her massage. She had to be horny as well. She always became horny by a mere touch from him. Sometimes, only a look was necessary to make her cunt heat up.  
  
Therefore, he stayed on his stomach, despite the discomfort from his hardening cock. All the anger and worry had completely dissolved. His entire focus was on the way her hands moved over his body as it continued down from his arse to his thighs. She was sitting on her knees in between his legs and he could feel the heat of her legs on the inside of his own. He could hear her shallow breathing. A sure indication of her arousal. He wondered what it was that made her so turned on by him. Not that he was surprised, of course he wasn’t. He was only curious.  
  
His eyes fell shut. Never had he been this relaxed before.  
  
That was when it happened. He had possessed people before, so it only took him a fraction of a second to realise he was inside of Hermione. But it was much different from possession. He met no resistance and the thoughts that flew around him were not much harder to follow than his own. They were just there, as easy as if he had thought it himself. He could see his own body through her eyes and feel what she was feeling.  
  
It surprised him how warm her emotions were for him. Besides the arousal, he could detect tenderness as well as worry. But not worry over what he could do, but worry over how he felt. She was actually concerned about his well-being. She thought it was hard for him to change his ways and wanted to help him feel better about it. Encourage him to be better.  
  
Voldemort snorted silently. Well, he would let her believe that it helped if it kept her this cooperative. However, it was nice knowing her motives. It was easier to manipulate her then. Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to do this sooner.  
  
That thought made him frown. Hermione had stumbled her way into his brain the third time they had sex and only due to the fact that he was very skilled at Occlumency had he discovered it. It hadn’t felt like it normally did when someone tried to break into your mind. She had only been there. Hermione, however, was not good at Occlumency. She didn’t seem to realise he was inside her mind. How foolish of her. Then again, he had never done this before, so perhaps she thought he couldn’t do it.  
  
It was strange that he hadn’t been able to do the touch-Legilimency on her earlier. What made this time different? They had been naked together many times before. It had to be more than that. When she had got into him the first time, she had said that she had only been wondering what he had been thinking. Perhaps that was it? However, he had been wondering about what she was thinking many times before, and yet, this hadn’t happened. There had to be something else.  
  
 _He looks so peaceful. Has he fallen asleep? Bummer, I want to have sex._  
  
Hermione’s thoughts appeared quickly in her mind, and Voldemort smiled. Perhaps it was time to withdraw and grant her wish?  
  
However, before he could do that, he snapped up more of her thoughts.   
  
_Perhaps I could bite him to wake him up? If he is_ _asleep, he wouldn’t have the chance to stop me. Huh, who would have thought that someone as paranoid as Voldemort would fall asleep like that?_  
  
Voldemort flew into his own body again and turned them around before she had time to react. He used his full body weight to hold her down and had her hands pressed against the mattress next to her head as he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. She was right. If he had been asleep instead of inside her mind, she would have been able to do anything she wanted to him. When he had become so careless around her?  
  
Hold on. Why hadn’t she taken the opportunity to get rid of him? She had only thought about a harmless little bite. She had had no thoughts of killing him. Why?  
  
“Do I have something extremely interesting on my face?” Hermione asked mostly amused, but with a hint of worry in her voice.  
  
“Why don’t you want to kill me?” The question left his mouth before he could stop it. He needed to know.  
  
Hermione became serious. “What makes you ask that?”  
  
“You don’t want me dead,” he stated.   
  
The last thirty years or so, he hadn’t met anyone who didn’t want him dead or at least imprisoned or wounded. Even the Death Eaters would have stabbed him in the back if he had given them the opportunity. It wasn’t something that surprised him. He was fearsome, and people always wanted to get rid of the things they feared. They just seldom had the courage to actually do it.  
  
Yet, Hermione didn’t want him dead or wounded. She only wanted him to change more towards her version of what was good. Why?  
  
“No, I guess I don’t want you dead,” Hermione said slowly, her brows together in a frown.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Her frown deepened. “I don’t know. Why are you asking?”  
  
He removed his hand from hers and traced her cheek. Still so young and innocent. She really did have no idea why the fact that she didn’t want him dead amazed him. It was good, though. Very, very good.  
  
“A lot of people would gladly try to kill me, or watch as others tried,” he said softly and leaned closer to her. “You would interfere if someone tried to kill me, would you not?”  
  
Her free hand came up to his head. She slowly stroked his hair. “I probably would, yes.”  
  
“How far would you go to prevent me from being hurt?”   
  
It was merely a hypothetical question, of course. If someone tried to hurt him, he would deal with them himself long before Hermione had the chance to.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I guess it depends on who was trying to hurt you.”  
  
Voldemort sighed and sat up. That was one of the problems with Hermione. She was loyal to others as well as to him.  
  
“A diplomatic way of saying that you don’t want to come between me and your friends.”  
  
She sat up, too, and placed her hand on his arm.   
  
“No, of course I don’t,” she said forcefully. “They have been my friends for a very long time. Harry in particular is like a brother to me, even though we are not as close as we once were. But…”  
  
She paused, her expression becoming troubled.  
  
“But?” Voldemort inquired.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled. “But you are the father of my children and soon to be my husband.”  
  
He smiled as realisation hit him. “I’m your family.”  
  
“Yes,” she admitted and moved closer to him. “I would be sad if you were hurt. Even if you deserved it.”  
  
Voldemort just smiled, brought his hand up to her face and stroked her lip. She bit his finger, a smile playing on her lips as well. His soon-to-be wife. The only person on this earth that could make his need to kill disappear for a while.  
  
“On the day of Potter’s wedding, we are going to have to fuck several times,” he whispered and withdrew his finger from her mouth.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened and she seemed to come to the realisation of why he had been so tense before. At least a part of it. He would never tell her about the new strange feelings in his body. No, he would ignore that. That would not be difficult if he got to bury his cock deep inside of her. Everything was so much better when he was inside of her, clearer.  
  
“Of course,” she whispered in reply and pulled him closer to her, kissing him hotly, showing him her submission.  
  
He embraced her, and she moved so her legs were on either side of his body. They had done this so many times now it was like his cock guided itself into her cunt. As they both worked their way up to a climax, Voldemort had successfully managed to suppress every bad feeling he had had that night. Once they were done, he slept like a little child, tightly wrapped around his Shared Flame.

 

   
  



	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to Nerys and Shan84 for betaing.

**Chapter 29**  
  
Hermione was exhausted when she sat down on the couch in Luna’s flat. Ginny looked equally tired as she sat down next to her. They had just finished the rehearsal for the wedding and all of the standing up and walking around gave Hermione a backache. She was secretly happy that the whole thing would be over the very next day. With everything else that was going on in her life like being pregnant, school, researching about Shared Flame and Althea, she did not need the extra stress this wedding gave her. She was not looking forward having to do this again in nine months time for her own wedding.  
  
“What do you want to drink, Hermione?” Angelina asked. She and Luna were in charge of the hen night they were about to endure. Thankfully, not much was required from Hermione. Since Ginny was pregnant and not faring too well, they had decided that the hen night would only involve a few close friends at Luna’s place.  
  
“Just water, please,” Hermione said, leaning her head back against the cushion, very thankful for the softness of the couch. The chairs at the reception had been exceptionally uncomfortable.  
  
“The same for me as well please,” Ginny said, sounding as tired as Hermione felt. “With some ice, if you have it.”  
  
“Right away.” Angelina disappeared into the kitchen.  
  
Luna’s flat, which she shared with her girlfriend, was much bigger than Hermione and Voldemort’s. The shelves held some rather unique objects, and the living room was without a doubt the most colourful room Hermione had ever seen. One wall was covered with both wizard and Muggle photos of different people and objects. In the middle of the wall was a painted picture featuring Luna and her girlfriend together. On the frame around it, the word “love” was written several times in small blue letters.  
  
“You should have warned me about the constant need to pee,” Ginny complained, placing her hands on her belly.  
  
“Sorry,” Hermione said with a snort. “I forgot. It will be worth it in the end, though.”  
  
“You better be right about that,” Ginny muttered.  
  
“Say cheese!” A flash made Hermione blink, and when she could see again, she saw the Captain of Ginny’s Quidditch team grin at them before she attacked some other women with her camera.  
  
Most of the women were Quidditch players. Only Hermione, Luna and her girlfriend Sahara weren’t. Hermione didn’t mind though, she was too tired to engage in long conversations and was satisfied just listening to the other women talk. It actually felt like old times; at Hogwarts she had always listened to Harry and Ron’s constant chatter about the sport.  
  
She felt a sting of pain as she thought about Ron. He had been released from St. Mungo’s about a week ago, no longer under any magical influence. She had seen him the day before, as a test to make sure he was actually cured. Since he hadn’t tried to hurt her or her child in any way, they were all confident that the he was indeed cured.  
  
“What has got you so blue, Hermione?” Ginny asked, nudging her with a finger.  
  
Hermione sighed. “I just thought about Ron.”  
  
“Oh. Right. Yeah, yesterday was uncomfortable,” Ginny said, grimacing. “Did he speak to you at all today?”  
  
“No, it’s like he can’t even look me in the eye. I guess he feels guilty,” Hermione answered tiredly. “As far as I’m concerned, he was just sick and now he is better and we should try to stay friends. Do you think you can tell him that?”  
  
“Sure. I’m sure Harry will as well. But you know how Ron is like, just give him time, he will come around,” Ginny comforted her.  
  
Hermione nodded. “I know. Thanks.”  
  
Right then, Angelina came back with a glass of water to each of them. “Hey, what do you say about playing a game now?”  
  
“Does it require me to stand up?” Ginny asked.  
  
Angelina laughed. “No, but since it’s your hen night, we thought we would dirty things up a bit! Luna and I have designed a game … or well, not designed as much as we heard about a game Muggles play on drinking nights and changed it to suit us.”  
  
The other women suddenly quietened down and were looking at Angelina with interest. They were sitting spread out in a circle on couches, armchairs and cushions. Hermione couldn’t remember half of their names and hoped the game wouldn’t require her to interact too much with them. They were all so … sporty. Even though Hermione loved Ginny and Harry, she had never understood their fascination for sport. Why play a game when you could read a good book? However, with Harry and Ginny, Hermione had other things in common with them. That wasn’t the case with these women.  
  
“Fine, how does this game work?” Ginny asked curiously.  
  
“Easy, we all get to ask you a question—the dirtier, the better—and then, you get to ask one in return. The same question as you got if you can’t think of anything better. How does that sound?” Angelina asked eagerly. It seemed she had already prepared some questions for her friend.  
  
Hermione, however, felt a bit uncomfortable. She had a fair idea of what sort of dirty questions would be asked and she was never comfortable getting so private with other people. Except with Voldemort, of course, but that was different, she was fucking him.  
  
Then she realised what she had just thought and scowled. If she could talk about sex with _Voldemort_ , then she should be able to talk about it with these girls. It was just a fun thing, after all. It was for Ginny’s sake, and Hermione knew her friend loved to gossip and talk about naughty things.  
  
True enough, Ginny looked very eager to begin Angelina’s game. They decided to start asking questions in the order they were sitting, so thankfully Hermione would be last. A woman Hermione thought was named Cindy began.  
  
“Okay, so this may be boring but, when was the first time you and Potter did it? Because you can’t say you haven’t,” she said and looked at Ginny’s stomach.   
  
The others laughed.  
  
Ginny was laughing as well before she answered. “When I was sixteen, at the end of my fifth year on Hogwarts. Fred and George had told me about a secret room near the Gryffindor tower, and I took him there one night.” Ginny had a soft smile on her face at the memory. “Poor Harry. He had no idea what I had planned. But he caught on quickly enough.”  
  
The women cheered.  
  
“Ginny, your turn to ask a question back,” Angelina said once the giggles had died down.  
  
“Right,” Ginny pretended to think about it, but Hermione could clearly see that she already knew what to ask. “Well, Cindy, I want to know all about your night with Mr Tutshill Tornados. Spill!”  
  
The other women seemed to be very interested in it as well. Hermione listened and felt a bit like she was eavesdropping on someone’s private conversation. Cindy was not afraid to go into details, and Hermione found it rather uncomfortable that she didn’t know this woman’s last name but knew about how many orgasms that she had had in one night.  
  
However, as the game continued, Hermione managed to ease up. It was a hen night after all, and she had heard about people doing much worse things than talking about sex. At least there was no stripper.  
  
“Hermione! You are up,” Angelina said after nearly an hour had passed.  
  
The women quieted down again and looked at her with interest. Hermione didn’t know if she managed to fight down the blush of suddenly being in the spotlight, but at least, she had already had time to think about what she wanted to ask.  
  
“What is the thing you like the most during sex?” After what all the other women had asked, Hermione’s question was rather mild, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to ask about something dirtier.  
  
Ginny, however, didn’t seem to mind. “I guess it must be afterwards. Sometimes Harry just holds me and strokes my back. It really gives me shivers all over and I just feel so, I don’t know, loved? Yeah, loved.”  
  
A collective sigh went through the room. Hermione smiled at her friend and tried not to feel jealous. Voldemort would never love her, no matter how much pleasure they gave each other.  
  
“Give one to Hermione now,” Angelina urged Ginny.  
  
Ginny looked at Hermione thoughtfully, and Hermione kept her fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be something too revealing. Voldemort would not be pleased if he found out she had told these women about what he was like in bed.  
  
“How many times do you and Marcus have sex, generally?” Ginny asked after a moment.  
  
Hermione relaxed. That wasn’t such a bad question. “Oh, maybe four or five times.”  
  
“A week?”  
  
“No, a day.”  
  
Cindy, who had just taken a sip of her drink, choked and began coughing. The other girls were staring at Hermione in surprise. Hermione could feel a blush creeping up over her face and looked at Ginny, only to discover that the she seemed equally surprised. Hermione scowled. Just because she didn’t talk about it didn’t mean she didn’t have sex. Or maybe they were surprised because of her reputation as a Know-It-All?  
  
“Lucky bastard,” a Scottish woman muttered, and it thankfully made the others start to murmur in agreement.  
  
“That’s what Jack and I were like the first weeks together,” a small black woman said to her neighbour.  
  
“I should really go home to Jeanette and suggest we try to break it,” another woman told Cindy who nodded in agreement.  
  
They all began talking amongst each other, and Hermione was thankfully out of the spotlight again. Only Ginny was still staring at her with a strange expression.  
  
“What?” Hermione asked with a frown.  
  
Ginny blinked. “Oh, sorry. I was just so surprised. I mean, I know how seriously you take school, and with one child and another on the way, I just can’t see how you have the time to do it so often.”  
  
“We make time,” Hermione said in a final tone, hoping they would begin with another discussion.  
  
Ginny didn’t seem to take the hint. “Yeah, but still, with you being pregnant and all … Well, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep it up. If Harry came to me and wanted to have sex more than once a day, I would probably hit him.”  
  
Even though Ginny laughed, Hermione could see that something was worrying her. Did she believe Voldemort was forcing her to have sex with him? Hermione frowned. Well, sure, in a way he was, but she didn’t mind it at all. She had been the one to suggest it. Who wouldn’t trade a couple of hours every day to have glorious sex in exchange for the lives of innocent Muggles?  
  
However, it was worrisome if Ginny suspected that “Marcus” was treating her badly. If Ginny told Harry about it, then Harry would definitely start searching for things. And it probably didn’t help that they knew about  Marcus and Althea being Parselmouths.  
  
Hermione felt like a cold hand had gripped her heart. Did Harry and Ginny know the truth? Hermione tried to remember if there had been other times where Ginny had acted weird around Voldemort.   
  
Yes, there had been!   
  
Ginny had been concerned the moment she found out Hermione was sleeping with her teacher. She hadn’t warmed to him at all.  
  
Could she suspect something? She was the one who had had the most contact with Voldemort due to the diary that had possessed her in her first year. Harry had also had his fair share of encounters, due to the mental link they had shared. Neither were stupid; they could put two and two together just as Hermione had done. Voldemort was a good actor, but there were times when his true self appeared from behind the mask. Even if he hadn’t made a revealing move yet, it would be only a matter of time. If Ginny were indeed suspecting something already, the tiniest thing could set her off.  
  
However, if Harry and Ginny did suspect something was up, why hadn’t they told Hermione about their thoughts?  
  
She looked at Ginny who had turned to answer a question from Cindy. Why wouldn’t Ginny just come out and ask her if she suspected Marcus was Voldemort? Hermione could think of three reasons. Either Ginny didn’t know who Marcus was at all. Or Ginny thought she didn’t know and wanted to keep Hermione safe while she worked on a plan to capture Voldemort. Or she thought Hermione knew the truth and was helping Voldemort.  
  
A knot of worry formed in her stomach. Merlin, what should she do?   
  
Just a few months ago, she just would have kept a low profile and let Harry and Ginny find out the truth and bided her time until then. Harry had defeated Voldemort many times before, and even thought Voldemort had said he could defeat his nemesis now, Hermione wasn’t completely sure he could. That thought would have comforted Hermione last year. Now, it only made her stomach hurt.  
  
She remembered the conversation they’d had a few nights ago. He was her family now. She had to protect her family.  
  
 _But he is still Lord Voldemort_ , a small voice reminded her.   
  
He had done countless of evil deeds in his days, and people were looking for revenge. If they knew Marcus was Voldemort, they would want to kill him.  
  
She silently cursed. He wasn’t killing anymore. She had made sure of that. If they tried to capture him, he would kill most of them and it wasn’t sure they would manage to defeat him. However, if they did …  
  
Hermione swallowed.   
  
If they did, she would have nothing left. Even if she managed to convince them that she hadn’t known who he was, she would become an outcast. Who would want anything to do with the Dark Lord’s wife? And what about Lord Voldemort’s children? Would they be able to live a normal life?  
  
She knew how prejudiced and mean people could be. In the Muggle world, she had been bullied because she was “weird”. At Hogwarts, she had been bullied because she was Muggle-born. Would her children be shunned, as she had been, just because of whose child they were? Not only that, but Voldemort still had many enemies. What if someone thought fair was fair and decided to kill Voldemort’s children, just as Voldemort had killed many family members? That thought scared Hermione the most.   
  
When Ginny rose from the couch, Hermione looked up, but the other woman only seemed to need the bathroom. Hermione glanced after her, feeling a bit nauseated. If she told Voldemort that Ginny seemed as though she suspected something, he would kill her. However, if she didn’t tell Voldemort, she would have to find a way to stop Ginny herself. But how would she do that if she risked getting a “cough-attack” every time they came close to the truth? She didn’t feel like it was right to Obliviate Ginny, and even if she did that, there was no guarantee Ginny wouldn’t find out again. Besides, if she had already told Harry, it would all be for naught. She wouldn’t be able to Obliviate him as well. The Auror training taught them how to prevent having their memories tampered with. Hermione had practiced it herself but never been in a position where she could test if it actually worked.  
  
“Why so quiet, Hermione?” It was Cindy. She was smiling at Hermione, and Hermione forced herself to smile back.  
  
“Sorry, I’m just tired and my mind was elsewhere,” Hermione replied honestly.  
  
“I see. I hope you aren’t bored or anything. Ginny told me you weren’t much into Quidditch, and I’m afraid some of us just can’t stop talking about it,” Cindy said and smiled sheepishly as she tugged a stray of her short, blond hair behind her ear.  
  
“No, that’s okay,” Hermione assured her. “I guess I’m just not that much fun at parties.”  
  
“Don’t say that.” Cindy moved closer to her on the couch and rearranged her cute, purple skirt. “I know being pregnant is very tiresome. I live with my sister at the moment. She is pregnant and has had a lot of problems with it.”  
  
“I’m sorry to hear,” Hermione replied, hoping her own pregnancy wouldn’t turn more complicated. “What’s wrong with her?”  
  
“Too much stress, they said. Her magic spun out of control, and now she can’t rely on it. The Healers told her not to use magic until after the birth. Apparently, it can happen sometimes. So now I’m helping her out with everything,” the other woman explained.  
  
“Isn’t it a risk she’ll get magical diarrhoea?” Hermione asked, remembering Althea’s magical outbursts now and again.  
  
Cindy, however, just shrugged. “It will only be for three months, and she does do some magic sometimes, you know, like a child who hasn’t learned how to use a wand yet. Tissues keep floating to her when she is reading her romance novels. And chocolate.”  
  
Hermione laughed. “Sounds like something my fiancé wouldn’t mind doing.”  
  
“Right, you are about to be married as well in …?” She looked at Hermione questioningly.  
  
“We haven’t set a date yet,” Hermione answered. “But I think we are aiming for January, so I’ve had time to recover after the baby is born.”  
  
“How romantic: a winter wedding!” Cindy exclaimed, and her blue eyes shone. “I’ve always wanted that. But first I need to find someone to marry, of course.”  
  
Hermione agreed, and they sat talking about wedding plans for the rest of the night. Hermione had almost managed to forget about her problem with Ginny when the other woman came up to her at the end of the night. Most of the guests had already taken their leave, and it was just Ginny and Hermione left in the living room. Luna and Sahara were in the kitchen, washing up.  
  
“Will you be going home now?” Hermione asked as she put on her outer robe.  
  
“No, Mum insisted I’d stay with them so she can help me ‘prepare’ in the morning. Probably wants to give me advice on how to be a wife and all that,” Ginny said and hesitated before she asked: “If you want to, you can stay over as well.”  
  
“Thanks, but I think I need to get home and mend the peace between Marcus and Althea,” Hermione said, feeling her spirit fall as she talked. She tried to remind herself that Althea was just going through a phase, but it didn’t help when there was so much screaming going on in their flat.  
  
Ginny’s look was both sympathetic and somewhat troubled. “Isn’t Marcus capable of dealing with her?”  
  
Hermione was somewhat surprised over Ginny’s question. “I guess he is, I’m just—” She coughed.   
  
What the hell? Why had the hex cut in now? Hermione quickly changed what she had meant to say.   
  
“I’m just being a mother hen. You know, always wanting the best for them.”  
  
Ginny nodded slowly. “Yeah, of course. Oh, well, I shan’t keep you. See you tomorrow then.”  
  
Hermione hugged her friend. “Yes, make sure you sleep well, it will be a long day!”  
  
Ginny groaned. “Don’t remind me!”  
  
After a quick good-bye to Luna, Hermione Apparated back to her own flat, keeping her fingers crossed that today had been a good day for Voldemort and Althea.  
  
Landing in the hallway of their flat, she was struck by how quiet it was. Well, it was past Althea’s bedtime. Maybe they had both gone to sleep? However, a part of her was still dreading the worst. Who knew what Voldemort would do if he and Althea got into a fight and he lost his temper?  
  
A small thump was heard from inside Althea’s bedroom. Hermione hurried to it and opened the door. The sight that met her almost gave her a heart attack.  
  
A seven foot long, black snake was on the floor, closing in on Althea who was facing the other direction. For a split second, Hermione was wondering how it was possible. How could a snake get into Althea’s room? Then she remembered Althea’s talk about her snake friend. _Morgana!_ The fairy had somehow found a way through their protection and was going to take her daughter.  
  
Hermione could only remember being this scared once before when Althea’s bed had caught fire. Just like then, Hermione reacted on instinct now. She almost flew over to her daughter, pulling her away.   
  
“Not my daughter, you bitch!”   
  
Then she made an attempt to step on the head of the snake.  
  
Her plan, however, was thwarted when the snake suddenly changed into a man. Hermione lost her balance and fell onto Voldemort’s chest.  
  
“Salazar witch, who are you calling a bitch?” Voldemort growled and moved her aside so he could sit up, rubbing his chest.  
  
The small girl had begun to cry and was clinging to her father. Hermione trembled heavily and couldn’t stop her own tears from beginning to fall.  
  
“I thought you were Morgana. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she said, gasping, and sank down on Althea’s bed.

Voldemort sat down next to her and placed Althea on his lap. The girl peered at her mother, and Hermione tried giving her a smile. That calmed Althea down somewhat.  
  
“Mum don’t like snake?” Althea asked, still sniffing slightly.  
  
Hermione shook her head and reached over to dry her daughter’s tears with the hem of her sleeve. Her hands were still shaking.  
  
“No, Mum doesn’t,” Hermione said in a low voice, looking up at Voldemort. “Why did you do that? Is it your Animagus form?”  
  
Voldemort nodded. “She was more manageable when I was in that form. Didn’t disagree as much.”  
  
Hermione snorted. Leave it up to Voldemort to try handling his daughter by turning into a snake.  
  
“Please tell me the next time before you do it,” she said, taking a few deep breaths.  
  
“Shall I make you some tea while you try to get Althea to go to bed?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Yes please.”  
  
Voldemort placed Althea on the bed and left the room. Hermione looked down at her daughter who had stopped crying completely. Hermione’s heartbeats were finally starting to slow down to a more normal pace. With another deep breath, she managed to smile at her daughter.  
  
“Have you brushed your teeth?” she asked.  
  
Althea nodded and opened her mouth, showing her mother twenty clean, perfect teeth. Malcolm Granger had pointed out that Althea must have inherited her father’s mouth structure as well as his teeth since no one in the Granger family had such straight and even teeth. There was still a small gap between her front teeth, but Malcolm had said they would grow together when Althea was older. Hermione was happy for her daughter. Being teased for one’s teeth was no fun at all.  
  
“Do you need to pee before you go to bed?”  
  
“No, I both peed and pooped before,” Althea declared proudly. “The poop was this big!” She held her hands a few inches apart.  
  
Hermione thought she was exaggerating, and she snorted. Yet, she didn’t want to discourage her daughter so she quickly said, “That’s good. Do you think you can sleep now? It’s getting awfully late.”  
  
She looked at the blue clock standing on Althea’s nightstand. It was already ten o’clock. She wondered what had made Voldemort allow Althea to stay up for so long. Normally, he was quite strict.  
  
“I’m not tired,” Althea said and then had to hide a yawn behind her hand.  
  
“Too bad. The faster you fall asleep, the faster morning will come where we will go to the wedding,” Hermione said, hoping it would have the desired effect.  
  
It didn’t. Althea wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to go?”  
  
“There will be ice cream for dessert,” Hermione promised.  
  
That seemed to lighten Althea’s mood, and it didn’t take long until Hermione had managed to get the girl into bed. Hermione sang a goodnight song softly for Althea and then turned the lights out before leaving the room.  
  
“I’ve never heard you sing before,” Voldemort commented and handed her a cup of tea as she came into the living room.  
  
Hermione grimaced. “I’m not very good at it, but Althea seems to like it nonetheless. You could try it, instead of turning into a snake.”  
  
Voldemort led her to the couch. “I don’t sing.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t even picture what he would sound like.  
  
They sat down, and Hermione took a sip from the cup. The tea was still very hot. She guessed he had used some sort of heating spell on it.  
  
“What sort of music do you like?” she asked, curious.  
  
“Can’t say I care too much about music at all,” he said after a moment of thought. “I can’t see the point of it unless one is dancing.”  
  
“You dance?” she asked in disbelief.  
  
“Of course I do. And I hope you do too, since I plan to dance with you both tomorrow and at our wedding,” he replied evenly and wrapped an arm around her.  
  
She leaned towards him with her cup in her hands. “I can dance. But why don’t you like music?”  
  
“I don’t dislike it,” Voldemort objected. “I just think there are more useful ways to spend one’s time.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t argue with him on that. She rarely had time to listen to music since she didn’t like having it on whilst she was reading. Some of her classmates claimed they studied better to music, but Hermione couldn’t understand how. Ginny had made her try one summer, and Hermione had only been distracted by the changes in the music.  
  
The thought of Ginny brought back the events of the day and her problem. Hermione still hadn’t figured out if she should tell Voldemort about the chance that Ginny suspected something.  
  
“Why are you so tense?”   
  
Voldemort’s voice broke through Hermione’s thoughts. Fuck. She had forgotten how good he was at reading body language.  
  
“Just thinking about everything we have to do tomorrow,” she lied.  
  
“Hermione.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“I can always tell when you are lying.”  
  
Right. Hermione sighed and moved out of his embrace.   
  
“Let’s just get to bed. We do have a long day tomorrow.”   
  
If she had to tell him, she reasoned that she could do it after the wedding. Nothing good would come of it if he found out tonight. Although, perhaps it would be good to point out to him to be on his guard tomorrow?  
  
“You are clearly worried, Hermione,” he pointed out. “Do you really think you’ll be able to sleep when something is bothering you?”  
  
“Well ... if you make sure I’m too exhausted to think,” she suggested, hoping sex would make him drop the subject.  
  
Alas, Voldemort was like a salamander with fire when it came to secrets. He just couldn’t leave it. “I could resort to interrogation techniques that will leave you very exhausted.”  
  
Hermione sighed. She might as well tell him. He would not hesitate to use Legilimency in the end, and that would show him all he needed to know without her having any control over how it would present itself to him. If she told him now, she could at least try to make sure he didn’t storm off to kill Ginny. He had promised not to kill anyone after all. However, a little damage control could never hurt. And she wouldn’t mind having sex.  
  
She rose from the couch, taking his hand and tugging him up as well. Voldemort followed with an eyebrow raised in question.  
  
“Does this mean you’d like to experience my interrogation techniques?” he purred.  
  
She rolled his eyes. “No, I’ll tell you. I just want you to be naked when I do.”  
  
“Why?” he asked, clearly amused.  
  
“I’ll feel better then,” she simply said and led him into the bedroom.  
  
Once next to the bed, she quickly pulled off his clothes and pushed him onto bed. His cock was already rising to attention, and she wasn’t even naked yet. She slowly unbuttoned the blue shirt she was wearing, taking her time so she had a moment to decide how to best break the news to him. Or rather, how to make sure he didn’t run away and did something reckless.  
  
As she slowly pulled off her black skirt and saw his hungry look, she realised two things. One, if he were inside her, she could probably convince him to use a less deadly way to deal with her friends. Two, if she had known having sex could stop boys from doing reckless things, she would probably have had sex with Harry at Hogwarts. That thought led to another: When had she become so sneaky?  
  
She unhooked her bra and threw it on the floor. The clear appreciation in Voldemort’s eyes made her feel sexy and courageous. Feeling sexy was something she hadn’t felt before she met him. Sometimes she still wondered why he thought she was sexy. Was it only because of their Shared Flame or was it more than that? Hermione decided not to worry about it right now. She had a mission.  
  
“It must be a rather spectacular secret,” Voldemort mused, his eyes wandering over her naked breasts and up to her face.  
  
Hermione was a bit taken aback that he could see straight through her plot. Then again, he was awfully clever. She shouldn’t underestimate him.  
  
“You seem to like it, though,” she said, looking down at his fully erect cock.  
  
“I do,” he purred. “I’m just stating facts. But please, continue.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione removed her knickers, threw them on the pile of her clothes and started to walk over to him when he held up his hand, stopping her.  
  
“Oh, I think you can do better than that, dear,” Voldemort said. “Touch yourself.”  
  
Starting to feel a bit self-conscious, Hermione put her hands on her hips and slowly started to stroke her body upwards. The hunger in his eyes increased. Her hands came up to her stomach. She was getting bigger. Not everyone noticed when she was dressed, but it was clear as day when she was naked.  
  
Her hands travelled up to her breasts. Her nipples were already standing to attention because of the slightly chilly air. They had been very sensitive the past few weeks, and she only had to play with her fingers over them for a few seconds to get a thrill travelling down her spine to her sex. Of course it was even more pleasurable when he did it.  
  
“Come here,” he ordered and held out his arms.  
  
Hermione obeyed. She wanted to feel his naked body against hers. Feel the sparks of pleasure. Feel him inside her. And judging by the raw hunger in his eyes, he wanted the same thing.  
  
Straddling him, her arms came around his neck and their mouths met in a consuming kiss. For a moment, she completely lost track of her mission and let herself forget everything but his lips moving against hers and his tongue in her mouth. Thankfully, she caught herself before he could turn their position. She wanted to be on top tonight.  
  
Breaking their kiss, she looked at him. He met her gaze with both lust and softness. Good, then she could probably get on with it.  
  
Her sex could almost find his on its own by now, but she still moved her hand down and guided him inside her. He let out a groan and closed his eyes, letting his head fall backwards.  
  
Hermione decided to tell him now when she could still remember what she was supposed to tell him. It was strange how her brain seemed to malfunction every time he had his cock inside her.  
  
“I think Ginny is starting to guess your true identity,” Hermione said, moving over his cock.  
  
Voldemort’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at her in anger. With a growl, he had turned them around so she was lying underneath him as he held her wrists together over her head. His cock was still buried in her cunt, and she guessed that was a good sign. Just to make sure he would have some trouble getting away, she wrapped her legs around his. The anger in Voldemort’s eyes lessened a bit, and she could see that he was amused.   
  
“My little minx.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead at the same time as he began moving inside of her. “Making sure I won’t want to go kill your friend straight away. No matter. I can do it later.”  
  
Hermione stared at him in panic.  
  
Voldemort ignored it. “It won’t be considered strange if I kill her tonight. I’ll make sure Potter knows it was me. He will assume I only want to ruin all his chances of ever having a happy family.”  
  
“No!” Hermione cried. “You promised you wouldn’t kill anyone.”  
  
“Ah, but I believe I made a promise before that to kill anyone who found out about me,” he reminded her, meeting her eyes again. She could see that he was obviously finding this funny.  
  
Hermione stared back at him. She was hurt and angry. How could he talk about killing her friend so calmly? Didn’t he see how much it hurt her? Did her happiness mean so little to him? Or had she been so stupid to think that he could ever care about her?  
  
“Get off me,” she growled, doing her best to wriggle free. “Get off me now!”  
  
The amusement disappeared from his eyes.   
  
“No.” His grip around her wrists tightened. He seemed unaffected by her kicks. “No one can find out who I am. No one besides you.”  
  
“If you think that for one moment I’ll continue to fuck you if you kill my friends, you’re wrong,” Hermione growled, her voice trembling with rage. She might not want anyone finding out about him for the sake of her family, but she did not want to protect him at the expense of her friends’ lives.  
  
He regarded her closely. Then he started to move his hips again, moving inside her fast and hard.   
  
“I don’t need your permission, Hermione,” he spat. “You are mine. Your body already knows it. You are still wet. Still close to an orgasm. I could have Potter hanging from his ankles, broken and bleeding, and you would still be wetter than a fucking water nymph.”  
  
She had never hated him as much as she did right now. The anger was making her blood boil and her heart ache. However, the hurt she was feeling was worse. They had been getting along so well that she had actually started to believe that he was adapting to becoming better. But now this came and blew their fragile peace deal to smithereens. He would always be Voldemort, ready to kill the moment he was threatened. She had been stupid to think she could reason with him. Stupid to think he actually cared what she thought.  
  
What she hated the most was that he made her climax, regardless. She scratched the back of his hands as she came, wanting him to feel pain. Voldemort growled and moved his hands to her palms so she couldn’t scratch him. She tried to bite and kick him instead, which made him flip her around and take her from behind instead.  
  
She tried to crawl away, but he had such a tight grip on her hips that she didn’t get very far. Hermione began to cry, hating how her whole body shuddered in pleasure at every single one of his thrusts. From the position he was now in, he repeatedly hit the spot inside her that made her see stars.  
  
He began to move faster, and she was on the edge of another orgasm. Her legs were trembling. If it weren’t for him holding them up, she would have fallen down on her stomach ages ago. She could hardly think straight; all she felt was anger, hate and pleasure. So much pleasure.  
  
She came again, sobbing into the pillow underneath her. Voldemort came with a groan as well, spilling his seed inside her before falling down on his side of the bed. However, he still was not letting go of her. He spooned her and wrapped his arm around her chest, kissing her shoulder.  
  
Hermione made a weak attempt to break free again, but he just chuckled and held her still.  
  
“There, there, my little kitten,” he whispered. “We still have things to discuss, now that I’ve made my point.”  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth together. “I hate you.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter, dear. I believe that was my point.” He kissed her shoulder again. “So, how do you think we should handle this situation?” he continued and finally let go of her hands.  
  
Hermione didn’t know what he meant. “If you ever do something like that to me again—”  
  
“Yes, I know. You’ll start crying, get angry and scream at me,” he said, sounding amused. “I was talking about Ginevra. What should we do about her?”  
  
Hermione was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t kill Ginny? Then, what had all this been for? Just him showing his power over her again? Hermione scowled. Of course it was. Nevertheless, she was sure his threat to kill Ginny and maybe even Harry was legit if they couldn’t think about something better to do. Therefore, she had to push back her anger and sadness and focus on what was important: her friends’ lives.  
  
“You are good at Legilimency,” she stated, her voice cold. “Surely, it would be no problem for you to make her forget ever thinking about whom you could be?”  
  
“Legilimency is a fine art, Hermione. Watching memories is one thing, starting to change them is another. And what is to say she won’t figure it out in the future? No, we need something that proves to them once and for all that Marcus can’t possibly be Voldemort.”  
  
“Too bad you can’t be both of them at once,” she muttered. “Then you could make sure Ginny saw the both of you at the same time.”  
  
He was quiet for a moment. “That, my sweet kitten, is an excellent idea.”  
  
He pressed another kiss against her neck and let go of her. The moment he did, she moved out of the bed. If he had an idea that didn’t result in the death of her friends, then her work was done and she wouldn’t spend another second with him.  
  
“Where are you going?” Voldemort asked, surprised.  
  
“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” she stated.  
  
Hermione took her pillow, pressing it against her chest. She wasn’t able to look at him. It had all been an illusion. All the niceness he had displayed had just been a mask. This was the real Voldemort. And she knew it. She had always known it. Yet, she had allowed herself to be tricked into thinking otherwise nevertheless.  
  
She didn’t know who she was the most angry with: him or herself.  
  
His eyes narrowed. “No, you will sleep in the bed with me.”  
  
She hugged her pillow tighter. She was tired, angry and sad. She didn’t have the energy to fight with him right now. However, nothing he could do or say would make her sleep with him after what he had done.  
  
“No, I will not. You were ready to kill my friends. You continued to fuck me after I had asked you to stop. How can you expect me to sleep next to you after that?”   
  
She finally looked him in the eyes. Cold, calculating eyes.  
  
“You promised to have sex with me whenever I wanted to,” he reminded her, studying her closely.  
  
She pressed her lips together. “Then, by all means, take what you want. Just don’t wake me while you do it.”  
  
With that, she spun around and stalked out the bedroom. She wanted to slam the door shut but didn’t want to risk waking Althea. Therefore, she shut it carefully and walked over to the couch. A blanket lay folded over the back of the couch. She put her pillow at one end and then pulled the blanket over her naked body. Her last thoughts were of the horrible man she had promised to spend the rest of her life with.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks to Shan84 and Nerys for betaing this chapter and brainstorming with me when this chapter needed some serious rewriting.

**Chapter 30**  
  
When the door shut behind Voldemort’s angry fiancée, he growled and stood up, ready to storm out after her. However, before he even reached the door, he stopped himself. This situation was bad enough with him showing her who was in control. Of course an independent woman with personal integrity like Hermione would react badly to that. He didn’t need to assert his control over her again by forcing her to sleep beside him. That would only worsen the situation.  
  
He fell back into the bed and massaged his temples with his hands. Why had he pushed her so far? It had taken months and a kidnapping for her to start trusting him. She had finally given into his will without complaining. Now this situation had ruined all of his hard work. If she hadn’t made him so angry, he would have been able to stop himself. He had just wanted her to submit to him. To show that she accepted him as her master. That was what had been important last night. Not whether or not he should kill Ginevra Weasley.  
  
Although it would have been wonderful to kill Potter’s soon-to-be-wife, he knew it would break Hermione. He wanted Hermione unbroken more than he wanted to cause Potter pain.  
  
Unfortunately, Hermione hated him more than ever now. It wasn’t the same hate as before when she had hated him for his actions in the past. This time, it was worse. This time, she hated him because of something he had done to her. It would be difficult for them to move past this.  
  
 _Was it even worth it?_  
  
Voldemort opened his eyes at the thought. If he didn’t have to care about Hermione’s well-being, he could just go and kill Ginevra right away. Hell, he could kill Potter, too, while he was at it. No more compromising with Hermione. Fear would keep her in check. That would be so much simpler.   
  
Scowling, he sat up again. It would be easier to control Hermione through her fears, but no fun. She would resent him. Fight him. Lie to him. She would be miserable and stressed. Then, she’d become ugly. It wouldn’t be as fun to fuck her if she were like that. He wanted her the way she was now, or rather, like she had been prior to their fight. How could he possibly live with her if she turned into a scared, little rabbit like so many of his Death Eaters had become? It had been useful for him then, but he had always hated to spend more time than necessary with them. If Hermione turned into something like that, he would no doubt kill her out of sheer annoyance. And ... if he did that, he would no longer have a Shared Flame giving him more power.  
  
Cursing under his breath, he stood up and walked to the window. Dark clouds covered the night sky. The only light came from the street lights and the occasional Muggle car driving by. He hadn’t lived this close to Muggles since his childhood. Hermione had rejoiced when she saw how close to the Muggle world they were. A Muggle food market was just a minute walk from their flat. She liked getting Muggle food for Althea from time to time. She had even convinced him to eat Muggle ice cream.  
  
Well, the Muggles were bound to get something right every now and then.  
  
Thinking about ice cream naturally led him to think about sex. Knowing that Hermione didn’t want to fuck him made him want to go and take her again. However, he wasn’t about to do that to her in her sleep. He knew she wouldn’t like that, despite what she had said, and he did not want to make things even worse between them.  
  
No, he had to come up with a plan that would make sure Ginevra and Potter never suspected who he really was. Something that wouldn’t hurt either one of them … _much._ Once he had taken care of that, he would make Hermione trust him again.  
  
Lying down in bed, he pulled the covers over his body and closed his eyes. Hermione had given him the idea that Ginevra and Potter should see Marcus and Voldemort together. He thought the idea had merit, but it would be hard to do.   
  
First, he only had a small window of opportunity when he could show himself as Lord Voldemort to them. It would be suspicious if Voldemort just happened to show up when “Marcus” stood next to them. He hadn’t shown himself to anyone in the past four years. Why now? He needed an excuse that wouldn’t make them consider “Marcus” had realised they were on to him.   
  
Potter’s wedding was the perfect opportunity. It would not be strange if Lord Voldemort tried to hurt his nemesis on his special day. It would show them all that they were never safe from him. People would think that was what he was trying to do.  
  
However, how could he show himself as Lord Voldemort and not attempt to kill Potter?   
  
No, he couldn’t just show up. Especially since it wouldn’t be Potter he was going after but Ginevra.  
  
He didn’t sleep much that night. He was too busy running through every possible scenario, trying to decide on the best course of action. It was four o’clock in the morning when he was finally satisfied with his plan and fell asleep. Needless to say, he was not in a good mood when Althea stormed into the room at eight in the morning.  
  
“ _Daaaaaaaad_ ,” she said impatiently in Parseltongue. “ _It’s morning. Come and make breakfast_.”  
  
Voldemort, who was lying on his stomach with his face towards Althea, only opened one eye. “ _Ask your mother instead_.”  
  
“ _Mum is in the bathroom_ ,” Althea informed him. “ _I want breakfast_ now!”  
  
Voldemort was very tempted to show his daughter that no-one ordered Lord Voldemort around. However, that would only lead to Althea crying, and then, Hermione would become more upset with him. That wasn’t good since he needed Hermione to assist him in his plan today.  
  
“ _Fine, I’m coming_ ,” he muttered and stretched his limbs. “ _Go and pick your extra porridge topping_ _while I get dressed_.”  
  
Luckily for Althea’s future health, she obeyed him. He got up and put on his green dressing gown. He would take a shower later. Cleaning Charms never made you feel as clean as a real shower.  
  
Entering the kitchen, he discovered that today’s topping for the porridge were apples. He started making the porridge as Althea happily talked about the wedding. For some reason only known to herself, she had decided that she in fact wanted to go to the wedding. All of a sudden she was also eager to put on the dress she had bought with Hermione. Children were peculiar creatures indeed.  
  
“ _What sort of ice cream do you think they will have_?” Althea asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “ _I want that pink ice cream. Or the blue. Or the brown. Not the white. Why does Mum like the white so much? Oh, Mum said that I would have to sit quiet for a time. Why do I have to do that_?”  
  
When Althea’s rambling finished, Voldemort realised that she actually expected an answer. He looked away from the pot and towards his daughter.   
  
“ _You only have to be quiet during the bonding ceremony. It’s so you won’t disturb the man doing the magic on Harry and Ginny. But it is very pretty to look at, so just focus on that_.”  
  
Althea seemed to think that was reasonable. “ _What does a bonding ceremony do_?”  
  
“ _It creates a magical bond between two people, making them husband and wife_ ,” Voldemort explained and stirred the pot.  
  
“ _Like you and Mum have_?” Althea asked.  
  
“ _Similar_ ,” he said. “ _However, we are not husband and wife yet. We will have our bonding ceremony next year._ ”  
  
“ _Why?”_  
  
“ _Because I want us to.”_  
  
“ _Does Mum want it?”_  
  
“ _She knows that it is for the best.”_ He poured the apples into the porridge and stirred it around before taking the pot from the stove. “ _How much do you want_?”  
  
Voldemort and Althea had already started eating when Hermione finally came out of the bathroom. Judging by the steam that followed her, she had been in the shower for quite a while. Voldemort forced himself not to scowl. She had undoubtedly tried to rinse him from her body.  
  
Hermione gave him a sour look as she sat down and took her own bowl of porridge. Her anger must have developed into the cold, distant kind. He sighed. Hopefully the news that he wouldn’t kill her friends would make her look a little less ready to kick him in the groin.  
  
“I’ve come up with a plan,” he said, scraping the last of the porridge from his bowl. “Your friends will only be marginally hurt if you help me.”  
  
She looked at him with tired and cold eyes. “And if I don’t help you?”  
  
“Then I won’t be able to go through with my plan and I’ll have to come up with something else. Then, I can no longer guarantee their safety.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your plan then?”  
  
Voldemort was about to explain, but Althea interrupted him. “Mum. Why are you mad?”  
  
“I’m not mad, honey,” Hermione said, her eyes softening as she turned to her daughter. She reached out and stroked Althea’s hand. “Your father and I just had a disagreement, but you don’t have to worry about it. This is a happy day for our friends, so we should be happy.”  
  
Hermione’s smile looked a bit strained, and Voldemort could see that Althea was suspicious of her explanation. Hermione obviously saw this as well. She gently squeezed her daughter’s hand.   
  
“It’s okay, Althea.” Hermione glanced at Voldemort, and he could see that she wanted him to help her.  
  
He decided to humour her as he reached out and stroked Althea’s hair. “It really is, dear. Do you want any more porridge?”  
  
“No,” Althea said, finally looking reassured. “When does the thingy start?”  
  
“The wedding isn’t until two,” Hermione said, withdrawing her hand. “But I’ll have to go earlier and help Ginny. You and your father will go together.”  
  
“Why can’t I go with you?” Althea asked, pouting.  
  
Hermione hesitated. “Do you really think you want to? I’ll be helping with the decorations, like putting out chairs for everyone to sit, put out flowers and so on. I also have to make sure Ginny and Harry stay calm.”  
  
“Mhm. I can put out flowers, too,” Althea pointed out.  
  
Hermione smiled. “I’m sure you can. But I’ll be leaving in just two hours. Can you be ready, too, then?”  
  
Althea jumped off her chair. “Yeah, I can go to the bathroom and brush my teeth now.”  
  
She ran off to the bathroom.  
  
Hermione snorted. “I don’t know why she suddenly wants to go to the wedding so badly.”   
  
She turned back to Voldemort. However, once she looked at him again, all happiness disappeared from her face. “So, what’s your plan?”  
  
Voldemort smirked. “I’m going to crash a wedding.”

 

xxx

  
When Hermione arrived at the wedding, she was angry and worried. Not only did she know that Voldemort would completely destroy Harry and Ginny’s wedding, she had to help him do it! Admittedly, her part wasn’t going to be big, but she would still have to sit there, knowing that she was the reason why her best friend would have the best day of his life destroyed.  
  
She shouldn’t have told him what she suspected. She should just have fucked him until he couldn’t think straight and then let him fall asleep. That would have been much better than what had happened.  
  
She fought back a wave of nausea at the memory of the night before. How could he just do that to her? How could he just continue to fuck her when she had told him to stop?  
  
Of course, she couldn’t say that she was surprised. The man didn’t even understand the concept of compassion. It had only been a matter of time before he did something like this.  
  
“Mum?” Althea brought Hermione out from her angry thoughts.  
  
“Yes, dear?” Hermione said, masking her anger. The least she could do was to make sure Althea wasn’t affected by this.  
  
“Where is the flowers?” she wanted to know.  
  
“The flowers _are_ probably over there,” Hermione said, correcting her automatically as she led her towards the large tent a few yards away from them.  
  
They were at a large garden just outside London. Harry and Ginny had rented it for the whole day, and both the ceremony and the feast would take place inside the tent. The large, blue tent was in the middle of the garden, which looked spectacular in the spring time. The various plants were all in bloom and it reminded Hermione of all the colours of the rainbow.  
  
“Oi, Hermione!” Angelina came out from the tent.  
  
“Good morning,” Hermione greeted her, continuing to mask her terrible mood. “Althea wanted to come along and help. I hope that’s okay?”  
  
“Of course! I was just on my way to go and get the flowers. Why don’t you two help me with that? It’s a lot.”  
  
For the next couple of hours, Hermione tried to focus on helping. There really was a lot to prepare, and she did manage to distract herself enough. However, when it was time to sit down and eat, the thoughts returned.  
  
Voldemort would show up at the wedding as Lord Voldemort and cause havoc. He had promised no one would get hurt, they just needed Lord Voldemort and “Marcus Foster” to be seen at the same place at the same time. All she had to do was to make sure the Marcus-clone got back home. All for the sake of keeping his secret.  
  
“What has got you so blue, Hermione?” Harry came and sat down next to her.  
  
Hermione forced a smile. “Was I looking sad? No, I was just thinking.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yes. How are you feeling yourself? Getting nervous?” she asked, thinking it was better to redirect the attention away from herself.  
  
“I don’t know. I mean, I shouldn’t be. I’m finally getting to marry the woman I love.” But he did look nervous.  
  
Hermione smiled at him. “It’s okay to be nervous, Harry. From what I’ve heard, most people are.”  
  
“Yeah, but still. I guess I’m just nervous something will happen. What if I forget my vows? Or trip on my way up there? What if the binding magic doesn’t work?”  
  
Hermione took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Give Kingsley some credit, he has done this before. And if you trip, I’m sure Ginny will catch you. She is strong, after all. As for the vows … well, just make sure Ron has a copy on him so he can give it to you if you need it.”  
  
Harry smiled, looking much more relieved. “You’re right, thanks. What would I do without you?”  
  
Hermione snorted. “You seem to have managed pretty well.”  
  
“Right. But I’m still so glad you are here. You will always be my best friend, you know that, right?” Harry squeezed her hand, looking sincere.  
  
Hermione felt her eyes tear up. Merlin, she didn’t deserve this. She was a horrible friend.  
  
Harry looked alarmed over her tears. “Er…”  
  
“Sorry,” Hermione quickly said, wiping her eyes. “Pregnancy hormones make you react really inappropriately sometimes.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said, looking uncomfortable. “Oh, there’s Ron. I should go and make sure he got the vows.” He stood up, but then he looked down at her again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
She smiled. “Yes. Now shoo! We both have to get ready.”  
  
She watched Harry go up to Ron who had just entered with his mother, levitating the last of the chairs. For a second their eyes met, but then Ron quickly looked away. Hermione sighed. Ron hadn’t spoken to her at all, and she doubted he would. Perhaps it was for the best. She had no idea what to say to him, and frankly, she had much greater issues than trying to befriend him again.  
  
“Mummy!” Althea ran up to her. “Gin says you to come to the hotel to get ready. She has my dress!”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and stood up. It was time to get dressed for the wedding. Ginny had hired a special hairdresser for the occasion. Knowing her hair, Ginny had said that Hermione would go first.  
  
While in the chair, Hermione was surprised of how quickly the hairdresser worked. In less than half an hour, the tall, blond woman named Clarisse had managed to get her curly hair into a French twist. She even managed to decorate it with tiny Forget-Me-Nots.  
  
“Wow,” Hermione said, stunned at the result. “Do you think I can hire you for my wedding?”  
  
“Sure,” Clarisse replied happily. “Just owl me the date and I’ll put in a reservation in my calendar.”  
  
As Clarisse went to work on Ginny’s hair, Hermione helped Althea to get dressed and fix her hair. However, unlike Hermione, all Althea had was a simple braid with a few flowers in it.  
  
When they were both dressed, Hermione sat down on a couch, waiting for the other women to get ready. Ginny was looking at herself in the mirror. Even though it was unusual for a Wizarding wedding, she had decided to go with a white dress. It was sleeveless, and the bodice was tightly fitted over her upper body. Luckily for Ginny, her pregnancy wasn’t showing much yet, and they only had to take out the dress a little a few days before.  
  
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Ginny said, seemingly to herself. Then she let out a happy squeal and turned around as her eyes fell on Althea. “Oh Merlin, Althea, you look so pretty!”  
  
Althea giggled and looked happy at the compliment. “You are very pretty, too!”  
  
Ginny shone like the sun. However, in the hour leading up to the ceremony, she became more and more nervous, constantly asking for reassurance that everything was in order. Hermione was quite relieved when she could leave to give Althea to Voldemort. Since Hermione was a bridesmaid, she would be standing at the front with Luna and Angelina.  
  
When she found Voldemort outside the tent, he was standing with Neville of all people, making small talk. She could feel a wave of resentment rush through her at his perfect appearance. He looked like he was enjoying himself and was being nice to Neville, but it was all an act. Everything he always did was an act. Bloody bastard.  
  
“Dad!” Althea called out, drawing Voldemort’s (and a few others’) attention to them.  
  
Hermione forced a smile on her face. The disapproving look on Voldemort’s face told her she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her emotions. He excused himself from Neville and went over to her. He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, but she remained unresponsive.  
  
“Do you want the whole world to know we have had an argument?” he scolded her in a low voice.  
  
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Suit yourself. If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t have anything to look angry about.”  
  
He sighed. Right then, Arthur Weasley called out to everyone that it was time to take their seats.  
  
“We’ll talk more later,” Voldemort mumbled to Hermione before he turned his attention to his daughter. “Should we go and find a seat, Althea?”  
  
Althea was watching Hermione with a small frown on her face. “Mum, are you okay?”  
  
“It’s nothing to worry about, love. Go with you father, I’ll see you later.”  
  
Voldemort took Althea and went into the tent while Hermione went back towards the hotel that was just across the street from the garden. She wasn’t even half way there when she met up with the others in the wedding. Ginny was holding a tight grip of Harry’s hand, looking anxious.  
  
“Is everything alright? Has everyone got here?” she asked.  
  
“As far as I could see, everything was going smoothly. Arthur just called them inside,” Hermione reassured her.  
  
“I guess this is it,” Harry said, looking a bit pale, but he still managed to smile as he looked at Ginny. “What do you say, Miss Weasley? Do you want to become Mrs Potter now?”  
  
Ginny beamed.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort was utterly bored during the bonding ceremony. It was disgusting how Potter and Weasley could stand there behaving so foolishly, talking about love like it was the air they breathed. He mentally snorted but did make a few notes. He hadn’t been to many weddings before, and it was important he acted the part during his wedding this coming winter.  
  
During the ceremony, his eyes drifted to Hermione more often than not. He felt a sting of unease as he watched her. She really had a hard time hiding how much she hated him. That wasn’t good. Neither was the fact that she was looking utterly delicious in that tight, blue dress. He wanted to ravish her right there and then. Alas, she would probably start crying and tell him to stop. _Again._  
  
Voldemort grimaced and looked at Potter. He needed to prepare for his plan. It would take a lot of power to create a clone, and the clone would not be able to do any complicated things. It would look exactly like him and act like Marcus Foster, but it would not be able to do magic. That was the weak part. Therefore, Hermione needed to keep an eye on the situation to make sure nothing could reveal the clone. She would have to remove the clone as soon as people had seen both Lord Voldemort and the clone at the same place at the same time.  
  
The question was: Could he trust her to go through with it? She couldn’t actively do anything that revealed his identity, but if she chose not to act at all and leave the clone alone so someone realised that it couldn’t do magic…  
  
His spell couldn’t stop that.  
  
Before last night, he would have counted that he could trust her. If nothing else than for the sake of their children. But when she was angry, she could act rather irrational. That meant that she could take the opportunity to just leave the clone and let others realise it was magicless. That would create quite a mess.  
  
He had already decided to make sure she cooperated in another way. If he held a person she liked hostage, she would not dare leave him. At the same time, he wanted to scare Potter as much as possible. By kidnapping Ginny, he could kill two birds with one stone.  
  
That particularly happy thought meant that Voldemort was able to look content and attentive as he listened to the rest of the ceremony. When the others stood up to cheer for the bride and groom, he cheered as well, lifting Althea up on his shoulder so she could see Potter and the new Mrs Potter kiss.

After the newlyweds had left the tent, everyone else was asked to step outside for a drink. They were going to refurnish for the feast.  
  
Voldemort put Althea down again and went to find her mother. Needless to say, Hermione wasn’t all that happy to see him. Thankfully, she was a bit better at hiding it this time.  
  
“Mum! Did you see how the pretty magic?” Althea wanted to know.  
  
“Yes, sweet, I did,” Hermione said with a smile, ignoring Voldemort.  
  
“Will there be more magic now?” Althea asked.  
  
“No, I’m afraid not,” Hermione said.  
  
Althea pouted.  
  
“Well, they did say they were going to refurnish the tent,” Voldemort chimed in. “They will no doubt do that with magic. If you don’t get in the way, I’m sure they will let you watch.”  
  
Althea’s eyes lit up. “Okay!”  
  
“Just don’t disturb them,” Hermione called after her as their daughter hurried back towards the tent.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Voldemort asked when their daughter had left.  Since there were a lot of other people standing around them, he made sure to sound concerned. “Do you want to sit down for a bit?”  
  
Hermione did seem tired but reluctant to come with him. “There is nowhere to sit.”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “Magic, dear. Come on. I’m sure Harry and Ginny will understand if you sit down for a little bit.”  
  
As the others started to line up to congratulate the married couple, Voldemort led Hermione in the other direction. As it turned out, he didn’t have to conjure up something to sit on. When they had got out from the crowd, Voldemort spotted a wooden bench in the shadow of an oak tree. It was well outside earshot from the others.  
  
Even though it was quite warm for April, Voldemort undid his outer robe and wrapped it around Hermione before they sat down. It wouldn’t do for anyone to think that he was less than a gentleman towards his pregnant fiancée.  
  
Hermione didn’t say anything. It seemed like she had gone back to the cold resentment of that morning.  
  
“Nothing will ever get better if you ignore and avoid me, Hermione,” he pointed out after a few minutes of silence. He had already cast Snape’s old anti-eavesdropping spell around them.  
  
“Neither will it get better if you continue to force me to do whatever you want,” she bit back.  
  
He sighed. “I’m sparing your friends’ lives. Surely, you can help with that?”  
  
She didn’t answer but looked down at the ground with a small frown on her forehead.  
  
“What is it that you want, then?” he demanded to know.  
  
“I guess an apology is too much to ask for,” she muttered.  
  
“An apology for what?” he wondered.  
  
She looked up and stared at him in disbelief. “For what? You continued to fuck me even when I told you no. That counts as rape!”  
  
Voldemort blinked. She felt like he had raped her?   
  
“We have a deal. I can have you _whenever I want_ as long as I don’t kill any Muggles.”  
  
She looked away. Clearly she remembered that as well.   
  
“This isn’t the same. I wouldn’t have objected if you hadn’t threatened to kill my friends. Why would you do that if you had already decided not to kill them? Do you like to see me suffer that much?”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “You made me angry—”  
  
She turned to him, anger clear in her eyes. “No. This isn’t my fault. You have issues, and you take them out of me. I won’t stand for that. Really, how much of this treatment do you think I can take before I try to kill you in your sleep? It’s not as if the thought hasn’t—”  
  
He gripped her shoulder, his voice hard. “Don’t threaten me, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione stared back at him with fury in her eyes. “Don’t hurt me, and I won’t have to.”  
  
They stared unblinkingly into each other’s eyes for several seconds before voices coming closer made them both look away. They had belonged to two guests from the wedding, looking like they were going on a stroll. Voldemort quickly readjusted his grip so it looked like he was stroking Hermione’s back instead.  
  
Once they had passed, Hermione stood up, handing back his robe. “Let’s just get this day over with.”  
  
He accepted the robe and stood up as well. When she turned to leave, he made a decision.  
  
“I am sorry,” he said in a soft tone.  
  
Hermione turned back to him, disbelief clear on her face. He stepped closer to her. He wanted her the way she used to be. If an apology would help him, then he had no problem uttering one.  
  
“Do you mean it?” she asked, suspicious.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I know I don’t have to hurt you. My temper got the better of me.”  
  
For a short moment, Hermione looked like she believed him. Then she looked away, sighing. “You aren’t capable of regret, Voldemort.”  
  
He became annoyed. “Yes, I am. I regret how I acted. I shouldn’t—I wouldn’t have done it if I had known things would turn out like this.”  
  
“But you only regret it because _you_ are finding this to be uncomfortable now,” she remarked.  
  
Voldemort growled. “I thought you wanted an apology. Did you really mean you wanted me to have a whole personal makeover?”  
  
She regarded him closely for a moment. “I guess I did.”  
  
Then, she spun around and stalked back towards the other guests.  
  
Voldemort took a deep breath, calming himself down. It wouldn’t help to start hexing. At least not yet. He would have an outlet later tonight. Until then, he had to make up a reason as to why Hermione was mad at him. Her pregnancy would have to do. Everyone knew women got upset over the silliest things during their pregnancies.  
  
He went back to the party and was served a glass of champagne as he started to mingle. There were a lot of interesting people here after all, and he wanted to make a good impression. He made small talk with some Aurors until it was time to get back inside the tent for dinner. There were no arranged seats, so by the time Voldemort got in, Hermione was already at a full table. He decided to let her be for now and sat down at a table in a corner. Not long after, he was joined by Neville Longbottom.  
  
Longbottom was an utterly boring table companion, but Voldemort was excellent at small talk. Besides, it was good if Longbottom noticed him and knew who he was. Voldemort would make sure his clone stood close to Longbottom during Lord Voldemort’s appearance. The Potters would no doubt trust their old friend as an eyewitness.  
  
Just before the main course, Harry Potter rose to hold his speech to his new wife. Yada, yada, things about love. Everyone applauded. Voldemort congratulated himself for being able to resist rolling his eyes. During the rest of the dinner, he was amazed by his own abilities to not kill each and every annoying individual around his table.  
  
He was very relieved when Hermione finally left with Althea in the middle of the dessert course. When she returned fifteen minutes later, she went past him and mumbled: “She’s gone to sleep.”  
  
 _Finally._  
  
Voldemort had promised Hermione not to attack until their daughter was asleep. She didn’t want the child to witness him as Lord Voldemort. He didn’t want her there either, but for other reasons. He wasn’t sure that Althea wouldn’t recognise him, despite the change of appearance. Children noticed things most adults missed, and it would be a disaster if Althea revealed him in some way.  
  
After the dessert and before the wedding cake, they had the opportunity to mingle. Voldemort decided that it was time for him to prepare for the grand finale and went to find Hermione.  
  
She was standing together with a young man Voldemort recognised as an Auror; they looked to be in a deep conversation with one another. At once, Voldemort felt the urge to go over there and mark his territory. Not seeing a reason why he shouldn’t, he went up to them, placed an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and kissed her temple as a form of greeting.  
  
“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to think I had lost my fiancée.”  
  
Hermione had tensed the moment he touched her, and her voice was strained. “I was catching up with Dennis Creevey here. He has just joined the Aurors.”  
  
“Oh, so you are the Marcus Foster I’ve heard so much about?” Creevey said with a broad smile and stretched out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”  
  
He didn’t look embarrassed like someone would who had just been hitting on Hermione and had got caught. Thus, Voldemort shook his hand and reluctantly concluded that the boy wasn’t interested in Hermione. Strange. Hermione looked absolutely delicious.  
  
“Nice to meet you, too,” Voldemort said. “Do you mind if I borrow Hermione for a little while?”  
  
“Oh, not at all. I’ll catch you later, Hermione. It was nice seeing you again!” He made a small wave and then went to some other guests.  
  
“What do you want?” Hermione asked in a low voice, shrugging his arm away from her shoulders.  
  
“I heard that it would be another half-hour before the caked is served. That gives us time to prepare,” he mumbled.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”  
  
She made an attempt to walk away first, but Voldemort gripped her hand and spun her back to him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look like you were about to go to detention. People already think we’ve had a fight. How about you act like I’ve just asked for your forgiveness, and we are off to ‘celebrate’ your acceptance of the apology?”  
  
“How do you suggest we make that look?” she asked, annoyed.  
  
“Kiss me, and then, drag me away looking horny.”  
  
“Why would that be any better? Can’t we just walk out of sight like normal people do?”  
  
“What is the fun with that?” he asked.  
  
When she merely stared, he sighed. “Fine. Let’s walk behind the trees so we can Apparate.”  
  
However, he didn’t let go of her hand during the walk. Neither did he let her Apparate alone. He embraced her tense body, and a moment later, they were back in their flat. Hermione broke free at once.  
  
“So how do we do this?” she asked, looking everywhere but at him.  
  
“I’ll create the clone and I need you to be quiet during that time. Then, I’ll need a magical boost.” He eyed her body meaningfully.  
  
She seemed very uncomfortable at that prospect. “Can’t you get it another way?”  
  
“No. Do I need to remind you that time is of the essence?” He regarded her closely, not liking how unhappy she looked. “Why are you looking like that? We have had sex more times than I can count.”  
  
“You haven’t forced me before,” she spat, her previous tenseness turning into anger.  
  
He looked at her, uncertain at what he was supposed to say. He had already apologised. What more did she want?  
  
The silence grew between them like an invisible wall. She was glaring accusingly at him while he tried to keep his temper under control. After a moment, he decided that they didn’t have time for this now.  
  
“It’s too late to back down now. I’ll do the spell, and then, we’ll have sex. Deal with it,” he hissed and brought out his wand.  
  
He closed his eyes as he focused on the spell. Silently, he began casting, feeling his magic leaving his body and creating a form out of thin air. There were better ways to do this, through potions or transfiguration, but that required more time. Therefore he had to settle for something less reliable. A clone out of thin air always turned back to thin air in due time. How long the clone was solid depended on how strong the caster was. Voldemort estimated that he could make the clone last a minimum of twelve hours. That would give him plenty of time to go through with his plan. If he could change back to being Marcus Foster earlier, he could simply destroy the clone.  
  
When the spell finished, Voldemort swayed from the loss of energy. It was a good thing he had harvested so much magic from Hermione before, otherwise he would have been exhausted. That was why he rarely bothered with clones. Since he was such a complex being, it took a lot of power to create a copy even though it didn’t have any magic.  
  
Opening his eyes, he saw the clone standing about a yard away, stretching its limbs. Voldemort went up to the clone and examined it closely. The clone arched an eyebrow.  
  
“You already know I’m perfect,” the clone commented dryly. “You made me.”  
  
“True,” Voldemort concurred. “I hope that means you won’t try to break free and do what Lord Voldemort would do?”  
  
“No, I know I’ll be gone soon, and there would be no reason to sabotage myself,” the clone answered. “Don’t worry, handsome, you’ll never be as obedient and good as I am.”  
  
Voldemort snorted. Even though the clone looked, acted and thought like him, there were still some ways clones differed. He wasn’t sure why, but maybe it was the knowledge that it was just a clone. It didn’t have its own purpose but was only there to serve someone else. That was a contradiction to Lord Voldemort’s personality and therefore created some differences.  
  
“Oh, Merlin, this is so disturbing.” Hermione groaned behind them.  
  
Voldemort turned around and saw her eyes shifting between the two of them as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.  
  
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the clone mused, looking at Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. Yes, the thought of a threesome with himself and Hermione had already entered his mind. “Of course I am, but you know that won’t work right now. We have to be fast.”  
  
“Such a shame.” The clone sighed.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, placing her hands on her hips.  
  
“Nothing,” Voldemort and the clone replied in unison. Then, they looked at each other and snickered.  
  
Hermione shook her head, annoyed. A tuft of her hair sprang lose from her twist and fell against her neck. Voldemort couldn’t stop the impulse of going up to her and fastening it again. Hermione tensed the moment his hand touched her head, but as always, there was that little pulse of pleasure between them. She stepped away, uncomfortable.  
  
“Do you have to do that?” she asked in a low voice.  
  
“I’ll need all the power I can get if I am to pull this off without harming anyone or letting them harm me. I’m going up against thirty Order members and trained Aurors after all.” He paused. “You don’t want me to fail, do you?”  
  
She looked like she wasn’t sure what to answer. That wasn’t a good sign.  
  
“Ouch,” the clone commented. “You really screwed up last night.”  
  
Voldemort grimaced. This was another reason why he didn’t use clones often; they tended to comment on things the creator was thinking out loud. It was probably because they used to be a part of the creator. Those were his thoughts, but out loud.  
  
“Shut up,” Voldemort advised the clone. “Kitten, please remove your knickers.”  
  
Hermione, however, seemed to find the clone much more interesting. She went up to it and took its hand.   
  
“He doesn’t feel like you,” she said, looking at Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort frowned and joined them, taking the clone’s other hand. “In what way?”  
  
“The spark isn’t there,” Hermione answered. “It must be because he has no magic. Does that make him better?”  
  
The clone chuckled, and Voldemort saw a glint of sneakiness enter the clone’s eyes. Oh great, now the clone was going to manipulate Hermione into liking it better. Exactly like he would have done. Damn.  
  
“Of course I’m better. Unlike him, I only live to be with you tonight.”  
  
Hermione looked a bit bemused by this.  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” Voldemort growled at his clone.  
  
The clone gave him an innocent expression. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”  
  
“You will be dissolved in a bit more than twelve hours; getting on Hermione’s good side won’t help you,” Voldemort said.  
  
“Maybe I was trying to get on her good side for your benefit,” the clone said innocently. “You do feel sorry; you’re just worried Hermione will find you weak and start to take advantage of you. However, I don’t have to worry about that. All I have to do is show her how much we actually care for her.”  
  
“So you can get into her knickers,” Voldemort filled in through clench teeth. “Stop playing with her. We still have a plan to follow through. Go away.”  
  
“That’s not very nice to say to yourself,” Hermione noted, a hint of amusement in her voice.  
  
“We are on a tight schedule,” Voldemort reminded her. “Now, drop your knickers.”  
  
Hermione gave him a scolding look. “Can’t I have sex with the clone instead?”  
  
The clone gave Voldemort a look of triumph.  
  
Voldemort ignored it. “No, I need the magic. Why would you want to have sex with it anyway?”  
  
“He isn’t you,” Hermione replied.  
  
“He is where it counts, believe me,” Voldemort growled.  
  
“I think you should let our fiancée choose whom she wants to sleep with,” the clone purred and brought up Hermione’s hand to its lips, kissing it.  
  
Voldemort was certain that the clone only wanted to test if it could harvest magic from Hermione. That was what he would have tried, after all.  
  
“She is _my_ fiancée,” Voldemort said forcefully and took a hold of Hermione’s other hand. “And I am the one who needs the magic.”  
  
The clone looked ready to argue, but Hermione interrupted it.   
  
“Merlin! I am not a doll. I won’t have sex with either of you. Besides, we don’t have time for it anymore. It’s been almost half an hour now. Pretty soon, people will start wondering where we are.”  
  
Voldemort glanced at the clock and realised she was right. He pressed his lips together in frustration.   
  
“Fine. But that will alter my plans slightly since I won’t have the energy I originally counted on. Remember that’s because of you.” He smiled coldly at Hermione. “Bring the clone back here when it will no longer be suspicious. I’ll see you later.”  
  
He Apparated away before Hermione had a chance to protest.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for taking their time to beta. Someday, when we are both much, much older, I'll have learned those grammar rules, Nerys. I hope.

**Chapter 31**  
  
“Althea,” the whisper came softly from underneath the transfigured bed Althea was lying in. The girl woke up the moment she recognised the voice.  
  
“Shadow!” she exclaimed in a low voice. She knew her parents didn’t want her to meet her shadow friend anymore, but Althea had missed it. That was why she had hoped that the shadow would come and visit her today when her parents were busy.  
  
“Hello, Althea.” The little shadow snake made its way up the bed. “How are you?”  
  
“I got pink ice cream today,” Althea answered happily, but she still kept her voice as low as she could. There were other children in here, and they were all sleeping. Althea didn’t want them to wake up and see her shadow friend. Then they would no doubt tell some adult, and Althea’s parents would be mad.  
  
“How nice,” the shadow friend replied. “How have you been lately? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you.”  
  
“Dad said you couldn’t come back,” Althea said, pouting. “Why can’t you?”  
  
“Your parents cast a spell to keep me out. But it doesn’t matter. When you have grown up a bit, I’ll be back, and then, we can continue to play. Would you like that?”  
  
Althea nodded adamantly.   
  
“But how long will that take?” Althea wondered. She had missed the fun games she and her shadow friend had played. No one else had the time to play with her.  
  
“We are trying to find a way to come back to you,” the shadow answered. “But I’m here right now. Why don’t we play some of the magic games?”  
  
Althea happily agreed.

 

xxx

  
Hermione cursed Voldemort’s existence when he Apparated away. Insufferable man.  
  
“Don’t worry about him,” the clone said in a chipper tone. “He is just horny and cranky.”  
  
“That doesn’t make me feel better at all,” Hermione replied. “He is going to attack my friends, and then, it’s not good a good sign that he is cranky.”  
  
“But could you have fucked him?” the clone wondered.  
  
Hermione glanced at him. How could someone look and talk exactly like Voldemort, and yet, be so different?   
  
“I don’t know if I could have had sex with him. Not happily.”  
  
“He doesn’t want to force you into having sex. Manipulate you, maybe; but not force you,” the clone said. “He will be careful not to do that again.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this? You are a copy of him. Shouldn’t you be more secretive?”  
  
The clone shrugged. “He thinks very far ahead and doesn’t want to reveal things that may come back to bite him later. I don’t have to bother with the long term. I just need to get you to like me right now.”  
  
She regarded him, unsure if she could trust what he said. It did make sense, but as he had said, he wanted her to like him. Probably because he wanted to have sex with her. However, if he told her the truth, then this was quite an opportunity for her to gain insight into Voldemort’s reasoning. The problem was that she wasn’t sure where to start. Nor did she have the time to explore it. They had to get back to the wedding.  
  
“Are you ready to get back?” she asked and gripped his hand.  
  
The clone nodded, and a dizzying moment later, they were standing behind the same tree they had left from. Not letting go of the clone’s hand, Hermione went to the pathway. They were just coming in the view of the tent when Ron and a brunette stumbled out from a dense shrubbery. It was not hard to guess what they had been doing.  
  
“Oh. Hi,” Ron said, spluttering just a little. “We were just looking at the … er, flowers.”  
  
The woman giggled and nodded.  
  
“Er ... same,” Hermione replied.  
  
“Oh. Right. Of course. Er …” Ron trailed off, unease filling his eyes. “Well, I guess we should go back to the others or something.”  
  
“I guess we should,” Hermione agreed and started to drag the clone back towards the feast.  
  
Ron and his “friend” followed.  
  
“Er ... Hermione,” Ron said when they were almost at the tent.  
  
Hermione stopped, looking at her former best friend. “Yes?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding much more sober. “I really am. I understand if you can never forgive me and never want to see me again, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.”  
  
Agony was shining out from his eyes. Hermione felt her feelings for him soften just a little. But he was right, she couldn’t forgive him. Not yet. It didn’t matter that he had been magically manipulated into doing it, they both knew that there was a small part of him that had wanted to murder her child. She couldn’t forget or forgive that.  
  
But she nodded, acknowledging his apology. Then she turned back to the tent again.  
  
“I’d like to kill him,” the clone mumbled softly as they entered the tent.  
  
Hermione snorted. “That’s more like the Voldemort I know. But you can’t. I may not want to talk to him, but I don’t want him to be harmed. It was the fairies’ fault.”  
  
“I know. Or I mean, both me and the real me know that. He won’t hurt your friends either,” the clone reassured her.   
  
She hoped it was true.  
  
They came up to where the other guests had gathered, just in time to see Harry and Ginny slice their wedding cake together. It was classic three storey cake with lots of blue and white frosting. The magical touch were the colourful lights at the top, forming an H entwined with a G.  
  
Everyone applauded and cheered as Harry and Ginny gave each other a spoonful of cake. A little piece of cream landed on Ginny’s chin, so Harry leaned in and kissed it away. A few people laughed, and next to her, Hermione heard the clone snort. She found her best friends cute. At once, the horrible guilt returned to her heart. Soon, their day would be ruined by Lord Voldemort showing up. When she and the clone got a piece of the cake, she found it impossible to swallow. It tasted delicious, but all saliva seemed to have disappeared from her mouth. She finally managed to force it down with some water and pushed the rest of the cake away. The clone eyed her.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
“Horrible,” she admitted weakly.  
  
The clone moved his chair closer to hers and put an arm around her shoulders. “We are doing this for our family, Hermione. For Althea and this little one.” He placed his other hand on her stomach. “Your friends will survive.”  
  
“But their wedding day will be ruined,” she whispered.  
  
The clone kissed her forehead and gave her shoulder another squeeze before he went back to eating his cake.  
  
Once the cake was finished, it was time for the wedding waltz. Harry led Ginny out on the dance floor after a little magic had taken care of all the tables and chairs. He held her close as they slowly moved over the floor. Hermione noticed that Harry seemed to have taken some dance lessons since the last time she had seen him dance in their fourth year. Or maybe he was just more comfortable with Ginny in his arms than he had been with Parvati Patil.  
  
When the first dance ended, all the other couples joined the newlyweds on the dance floor, including Hermione and the clone. The clone was just as excellent at dancing as Voldemort had claimed he would be. However, being touched by the clone felt a lot different from what she was used to with Voldemort. His touch didn’t send spark after spark with pleasure thought her nerve endings, but it wasn’t unpleasant either. Actually, it was quite good.  
  
She had come to associate Voldemort with the pleasurable sparks. So, when she didn’t feel them upon being touched, she just couldn’t see that person as Voldemort. Therefore, even though she knew the clone was Voldemort, she didn’t feel like it was him, emotionally. He was just … well, hers for the night.  
  
As he held her tight, swaying to the music, Hermione wondered if he were trying to comfort her or if he were just dancing. For some reason, he seemed to want to apologise for what Voldemort had done the other night. He had said that both he and the real Voldemort wanted to apologise, but the real Voldemort was afraid to look weak. Was that true or just, as the real Voldemort had suggested, a way to manipulate her?  
  
Well, since he was the clone of Voldemort, she guessed the latter was to be expected. Yet, there was a difference between them, besides the touching thing. The clone just seemed more … easy going.  
  
Then again, that was the way she had felt about Marcus before she found out he was really Voldemort. So maybe the clone was just manipulating her as Voldemort had done back then.  
  
Oh well, the clone would be gone by the next morning, so if he behaved like a gentleman until then, Hermione could at least enjoy it.  
  
“Oh, looks like we are about to see something happen,” the clone whispered into her ear, making her look up.  
  
He slowly spun her around, and Hermione could see an unfamiliar man walk up to Ginny, asking her to dance. Hermione narrowed her eyes; there was something strangely familiar about …  
  
Oh, fuck, that was Voldemort!   
  
She tensed, ready to save her friend, but the clone held her tightly.   
  
“We have to let this play out.”  
  
Yes, that was the plan. However, Voldemort hadn’t mentioned a thing about dancing with Ginny. Was this the “adjustment” he had talked about? She didn’t like it one bit.  
  
Hermione could see Ginny hesitating before accepting to dance with the stranger. Hermione was surprised she accepted at all. Then again, there were a lot of people at the party, and Ginny had admitted once or twice at being bad at remembering who all of the guests were. If Hermione knew her friend, Ginny didn’t want to be rude.  
  
Hermione watched with a sinking feeling in her stomach as Voldemort began to dance with Ginny. He was leading them towards the side of the dance floor where it was less crowded. Hermione nudged the clone to follow them while she looked around to see if Harry had noticed anything. Unfortunately, Harry was at the other side of the dance floor with Mrs Weasley, looking mostly at their feet than at the people around them.  
  
When Hermione turned her head back to Ginny again, Voldemort was leaning in, whispering something in her ear. At the same time, he changed his glamour.  
  
Ginny let out a high-pitched scream, and Hermione felt herself grow pale. Voldemort was looking like he had four years ago: bald, pale and snakelike. Everyone on the dance floor stopped. When they saw who had joined them, a few people ran to take cover while others started to scream and some merely gaped. One couple fainted. Voldemort’s glowing red eyes were shining in amusement.  
  
“If anyone moves or tries to take up a wand, you’ll soon be celebrating Mrs Ginevra Potter’s burial,” he said, his voice enhanced by a Sonorus spell. Hermione could see him raise a shield around himself and Ginny as he spoke.  
  
Since Hermione and the clone were the closest to Voldemort, Hermione also saw that Voldemort made a gesture with his wand over Ginny. The redhead went still in his arms, but she still seemed to be aware of what was happening. Her eyes moved over the crowd before coming to rest on Harry. He stood utterly frozen a few yards away. Mrs Weasley was standing right behind him, looking completely shocked.  
  
“Release my wife!” Harry demanded, sounding both angry and scared.  
  
“You know, I don’t see a single reason why I should do that,” Voldemort replied smugly.  
  
“What do you want, then?” Harry asked, clearly trying to mask his fear but failing.  
  
“Well, I heard you were getting married and I assumed my invitation got lost in the mail. I am rather hard to find, after all. But of course, I had to come and pay my respects,” Voldemort said sweetly. “I was Ginny’s best friend her whole first year at Hogwarts, after all.”  
  
Hermione frowned, recalling the time Ginny had been possessed by Tom Riddle’s diary. How much did Voldemort really know about that? She understood that Voldemort had found out what Malfoy had done with his diary, but did he remember it? He had never mentioned it. Somehow, Hermione doubted that he did. If he had remembered, then he would have been more careful around Ginny from the start. After all, Ginny had told that diary everything and communicated with it for ages.   
  
No, Voldemort must have calculated how the Horcrux had acted when it was interacting with Ginny.  
  
“What do you want?” Harry asked more forcefully this time.  
  
“You have once again become a thorn in my side, Potter. Therefore, I want to have a talk with you. Just the two of us.”  
  
Hermione’s frown deepened. Voldemort hadn’t mentioned wanting to talk with Harry when they had discussed the plan. He had said that it would be enough to just cause some havoc. It wasn’t that weird considering their history. Then again, Voldemort had said there would be a change in the plan since he didn’t have the power. Perhaps his new pretend reason for showing up at the wedding was this “talk”?  
  
“As a guarantee,” Voldemort continued slowly. “I’ll be borrowing your wife here. If you don’t come alone to the prince’s castle, something very unpleasant will happen to her.”  
  
“No!” Hermione called out, almost forgetting herself by stepping forward, but the clone held her back.  
  
Her shout, however, made Ginny look in her direction. Ginny’s eyes widened slightly, possibly to the fact that “Marcus” was standing right behind Hermione.   
  
Voldemort, on the other hand, didn’t take his eyes of Harry. “You have one hour.”  
  
With that, he Disapparated both himself and Ginny away.  
  
The moment they were gone, chaos ensued. Everyone shouted questions about where Voldemort could have possibly taken Ginny. Arthur Weasley shouted a few less flattering things about the dark wizard. Hermione felt her own anger rising. Voldemort had made up a whole new plan without her. What could he possibly gain by kidnapping Ginny?   
  
_Is he only doing this to hurt me for not fucking him?_  
  
“Where did he take her?” Hermione hissed in a low voice to the clone.  
  
“You can’t just show up,” the clone mumbled back. “That will make all this for nothing.”  
  
“He is going to hurt her!”  
  
“No, he isn’t. He was bluffing. Didn’t you see how weak his shield was? He doesn’t want to risk duelling more than one at a time. Baiting Harry is the most reasonable thing for him to do,” the clone explained, always glancing around to make sure no one was listening in. “He’ll make up a reason why he went for Ginevra and why he wants to talk to Harry. He’ll probably make a few threats, put Harry on the wrong track by thinking he is after something completely different and then let them leave when he is done.”  
  
Hermione looked at him suspiciously. What he said was logical, but that didn’t make her any less mad at Voldemort for kidnapping one of her best friends to some “prince’s castle”, wherever that was.  
  
Of course! Merlin, she had been so angry with him that she hadn’t realised the hint to Snape, the Half-Blood Prince. Had Harry figured it out?  
  
“Stay here,” she told the clone before making her way through the crowd that was surrounding Harry.  
  
“Harry!” she said, grabbing his arms. “I figured it out.”  
  
“Me, too,” he said. “But I have to go alone. You heard him.”  
  
Hermione sighed and nodded. “Do you know where it is?”  
  
“No, but I know where I can find the information, which means I have to go now.” The last bit was directed to everyone.  
  
“She is my daughter!” Molly Weasley objected. “I’ll come with you.”  
  
“No!” Harry said forcefully.   
  
The other people in the tent quieted down.   
  
“I won’t risk anything happening to Ginny. I’ll go, but I’ll be sure to call for backup if things get out of hand.”  
  
Hermione saw him exchange a look with one of the Aurors. They must have a way to call for each other, despite whatever ward would be in the way.  
  
“How can you just follow his directions?” George asked, sounding very angry. “It must be a trap.”  
  
“I don’t care! She is my wife! I’ll come straight to you when I have her,” Harry promised, looking at the Weasleys. “Now I really have to go.”  
  
He backed away from them all and Disapparated. That made most of the Weasleys turn to Hermione.   
  
“Did you know what You-Know-Who was talking about? Where did he take Ginny?” Molly asked.  
  
“Look, nothing will help if we just rush in after them,” Kingsley said as he joined them. “Harry will call us when it’s safe to bring in backup.”  
  
“But ...” Arthur tried.  
  
“No,” Kingsley said. “All we can do is make sure to be ready if Harry needs us. Creevey, go back to the Ministry and tell them what has happened here.”  
  
Fast and effectively, Kingsley began to organise them all. People started to leave.  
  
“Do you want to get back at him?” the clone asked Hermione in a low voice.  
  
It took her a second before she realised he was talking about Voldemort. She looked at him, an eyebrow arched in question.  
  
The clone smiled. “I have an idea. Fake that you aren’t feeling well so we can get away from here.”  
  
Hermione didn’t mind doing that. There was nothing more to do in the tent anyway; they could just as well leave. Therefore, she had the clone exchange a few words with Neville as she went to pick up the sleeping Althea. She was yearning to get back at Voldemort.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort looked at the woman he had dumped on the bed in what had once been Wormtail’s hideaway behind the bookcase. The house looked exactly as it had four years ago, only much dustier. Snape hadn’t had any heirs, and a long time ago, he had made his house repellent to Muggles. Few wizards knew where it was and the ones who did were locked up in Azkaban.  
  
Voldemort couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to come here. It was a really depressing house. Dark, cold and in dire need of a renovation. Perhaps it would be better demolished.  
  
Snapping out of his thoughts, he focused on the mission at hand. Soon, Potter would be here, and he had to make Ginevra think he had another reason for taking her, apart from her seeing that he wasn’t “Marcus”.  
  
“Ginevra,” he said softly as he released her from the spell he had immobilised her with. “I don’t think we have been properly introduced. However, I do know about your escapades with my diary. It’s a pleasure finally meeting you face-to-face.”  
  
The redhead swallowed and quickly moved to a sitting position.  
  
“W-what do you want with Harry?” Ginevra stuttered. Fear was shining from her eyes.  
  
“Your husband has started to dig through things he shouldn’t with his Auror friends. This is a friendly warning.”   
  
It was, of course, absolute nonsense. However, Voldemort knew what Potter was working on at the moment: the corpses Voldemort had dumped in the ocean. Voldemort also knew that the Aurors thought they had found a way to find him by using a device that could detect a certain magical signature. It would of course be unsuccessful, but the Aurors didn’t know that yet. And if Lord Voldemort showed up and looked as if he were worried about it, they would keep wasting time on the device. It was a win-win situation for Voldemort.  
  
“Harry will kill you,” Ginevra said, looking like she was trying to convince herself rather than him.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “Now, Ginevra, we both know that isn’t true. He will come, cast a few hexes and curse my very existence. I’ll get my message to him and then I’ll be off on my merry way. But before that, I want to look inside that pretty little head of yours. If you stay still, I won’t have to bind you.”  
  
Of course, she struggled, but Voldemort didn’t mind binding her with the same spell he had used before. He needed to see how she had figured out who he was. But he had to be careful so she didn’t realise that was what he was trying to find.  
  
Therefore, he spent the next five minutes looking through her memories of Potter. He accidentally-on-purpose stumbled over her memories of Marcus Foster. When he saw that, he cursed himself for not taking precautions sooner. Ginny had figured out who he really was, but she hadn’t really wanted to believe it. That was why she hadn’t confronted him or told anyone. Now she was relieved that she hadn’t. She even felt stupid for ever thinking Marcus could be Voldemort just because they both spoke Parseltongue. She had just seen Marcus while Voldemort was standing behind her.  
  
But he wouldn’t comment on that now. That could give rise to new suspicions. Instead, he had other things to taunt her with. He released her mind and straightened, placing a hand on her belly.   
  
“A little Potter junior. Now isn’t that a treat? Did you know that just one dose of the Cruciatus causes a miscarriage?”  
  
“You can’t.” Ginevra winced.  
  
He smiled. “As long as you and Potter behave, I won’t have to. You can have your perfect, little family for all I care. Just make sure your husband leaves me alone.”  
  
“He won’t leave you alone if you hurt me or the child,” Ginny hissed; anger was mixing with her fear.  
  
“I know. If I have to kill you, I’ll make sure to kill him as well. Don’t worry about it,” Voldemort said sweetly.  
  
Right then, one of Voldemort’s wards went off, telling him that Potter had arrived and was trying to break into the house.  
  
“Oh, sounds like your prince in shining armour has arrived,” Voldemort said and stood up. “Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.”  
  
Before she had time to react, Voldemort left the room, warding the bookcase behind him. It was time to deal with Potter.  
  
Voldemort had already made himself comfortable in the black armchair when Potter stormed through the door. He was alone, just as Voldemort had predicted.  
  
“Hello Harry,” Voldemort said softly.   
  
His wand was in his hand, ready to fight back at a moment’s notice. Even though he wasn’t up to his full strength, he was still stronger than most wizards and had half a century more experience than Potter. It shouldn’t be too hard to beat the boy if he needed.  
  
“Where is she?” Potter growled, his hand gripping his wand tightly.  
  
“Locked up behind a ward no one but me can break through,” Voldemort answered, amused by the boy’s anger. “You can have her back when I’m confident you have understood my message.”  
  
“Which is?” Harry asked.  
  
“You have been doing naughty things with your Auror friends, Harry. If you don’t stop what you are doing, I’ll make things even between us,” Voldemort replied.  
  
“Make things even?” Harry repeated in disbelief.  
  
“I do seem to recall you taking away my whole family of Death Eaters. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t return the favour?”  
  
Potter pressed his lips together. “You have already taken away my entire family once before.”  
  
Voldemort waved his hands dismissively. “Parents. What good are they? No, Harry, the family that counts is the one you create yourself.”  
  
Something in that statement made Potter’s eyes widen in sudden recognition. He stared at Voldemort as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then he started to back away, slowly.   
  
“No. No. It can’t be. Impossible.”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “What are you muttering about, Potter?”  
  
“Parseltongue!” Potter exclaimed. “Oh, bloody hell, how could I not see it? Parseltongue for Merlin’s sake!”  
  
He knew. Oh. Fucking. Hell.  
  
At once, Voldemort turned offensive. He started to throw hexes at Potter—not deadly ones, but something that would immobilise the boy so he could think about what to do next. Potter managed to put up defences, but as Voldemort advanced physically, Potter had to retreat backwards. The boy had just taken a few steps when he stumbled over a loose board and fell on the floor. That was all Voldemort needed.  
  
With one movement, he put Potter under the same spell he had used on Ginevra. He bent down, took Potter’s wand and made sure the boy didn’t have any other hidden weapons on him. Once that was done, Voldemort sat down on the floor with a sigh.   
  
Well, this was not good. What was he supposed to do now?  
  
It would have been satisfying to kill both him and the woman upstairs. For a little while. Then Hermione would make him regret it. He had already come to the conclusion that he wanted her the way she had been before last night. Perhaps this could help him make it better? If he spared them, he would make sure to tell Hermione. She would have to be grateful. Then they could have sex.  
  
His mind made up, he started to muse over how he could make sure Harry didn’t do anything with his newfound knowledge. A memory charm would not work on an Auror; they got tested regularly to see that they weren’t under the influence of any type of magic. Potter had also figured it out after he had seen Marcus and Voldemort at the same place at the same time. That meant the trick that had fooled Ginevra wouldn’t fool Potter even if they tried it again.   
  
Voldemort looked at the boy again. “How can someone as easily manipulated as you cause me so many problems?”  
  
He flicked his wand, giving Potter control over his voice again but keeping the rest of his body unmoving. “What have you done with Hermione?”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “Always so worried about others when you are the one in immediate danger.”  
  
“What have you done to her?” Potter asked again, sounding more worried than angry.  
  
“I do think the condition she is in speaks for itself,” Voldemort remarked dryly. “But if you want to know positions …?”  
  
The boy looked horrified. “You must have cast some spell on her!”  
  
“No, why would I?”   
  
Voldemort didn’t think Potter needed to know about the spell preventing her from saying anything that could expose him. It was more fun if Potter thought she had betrayed him.  
  
“Does she even know who you are?” Potter asked.  
  
“Well, if she didn’t, all the cries of ‘Voldemort’ in bed would have been quite disturbing.”  
  
Potter looked as if he were going to be sick. Voldemort stretched out next to him, lying down on his side, supporting his head with his elbow on the ground.  
  
“Hermione is mine now, Potter. If you, or anyone else, try to take her away from me, I’ll be most displeased,” he stated softly. “However, you are in luck. Since Hermione makes me so happy, I want her to be happy and am willing to compromise to make sure she stays happy. To some extent, at least.”  
  
He told Potter because he hoped that Potter would tell Hermione on a later date. Another thing that would make Hermione less angry with him, hopefully.  
  
“For some reason, Hermione is your friend. She is irrational that way. Nonetheless, I’m willing to let you walk out of here, safe and sound, because of this. But—” He paused with a stern look at Potter. “—I can’t risk you running around, free to tell everyone my secret.”  
  
Potter was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief, anger and just a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. “What do you plan to do?”  
  
“I’m glad you asked,” Voldemort replied and sat up on the floor. “Have you ever heard of the _Occulta Mors_ curse?”  
  
He smirked as he saw a flash of horror cross Potter’s face. The idea behind the _Occulta Mors_ was similar to the spell he had used on Hermione to keep her from revealing his identity, but much darker. It was mostly used to make people keep things hidden, death being the outcome if they failed. It differed from an Unbreakable Vow in the way that it didn’t need two willing parts.  
  
“By the look on your face, I assume you have heard of the curse,” Voldemort commented happily. “Well, then you know that if you utter one word that will reveal my identity to anyone, you’ll lose something you hold dear. In this case, I’m going to tie the curse to your wife.”  
  
The panic on Potter’s face was absolutely delicious.  
  


xxx

  
It didn’t take more than twenty minutes to get home and get Althea back into bed. The little girl hardly woke up and was like a zombie when Hermione brushed her teeth. She fell back into a deep sleep the moment Hermione pulled the covers over her.  
  
When she came out to the living room, the clone was not in sight, but the light was on in the bedroom. She walked there and found the clone standing at the mirror next to the wardrobe with an unreadable expression on his face.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hermione asked as she sat down on the bed. She was tired and angry, and her feet were swollen.  
  
“It should be annoying, being just a clone,” he answered, unbuttoning the dress robe. “If I were really Voldemort and knew that I only had about ten hours left to live, I would have been in a panic. But I’m not. Because I’m not really alive. It’s very peculiar.”  
  
“What do you mean you aren’t really alive? What are you, then?” Hermione asked.  
  
“A manifestation, I suppose you could say. A picture, but more advanced. I act and think like he does, but I’m not …” he trailed off, seemingly unsure what the right word was. “I’m not an independent being. I do what he created me to do. I can’t find the will to do anything else.”  
  
“And what was that?”  
  
“Make sure the plan works. Keep you company. Make you happy,” he added the last with a smile in her direction. He folded the robe and hung it in the wardrobe. Underneath, he was wearing blue tailored trousers and a white shirt.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “So, if I said I wanted my feet massaged ...?”  
  
“I’d be happy to do it,” he filled in and walked over to the bed.  
  
She moved her feet so he could sit down. Once he had, she put her feet in his lap, leaning back against the pillows.  
  
“That is also why I can help you get back at him,” he said as he started to rub the sole of her left foot. “In our mind, we feel better after getting our revenge. I’m hoping this will help you as well.”  
  
Hermione thought about it. It was true that getting back at someone who had wronged you felt very good. However, if she used violence, it would no doubt make things worse between them. Voldemort would just strike back. Then again, the clone knew that.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” she asked. It couldn’t hurt asking, right?  
  
The clone smirked. “Have sex with me. It isn’t cheating since I’m him, and he can’t hurt me for it. But he will hate it since he isn’t the one that you are sleeping with. Yet, he won’t be able to do anything about it.”  
  
“So you mean I should get back at him by pissing him off?” Hermione paused. “I may not know everything about him, but I know that I don’t like seeing him angry. It usually results in someone’s death.”  
  
“Ah, but he wants you to accept him again. The magical power you give him is worth quite a lot. Much more than the satisfaction of a killing. He won’t kill since that would make you even more reluctant to sleep with him.”  
  
Hermione was very intrigued by hearing the clone’s reasoning. If it were true, that meant she had power over her fiancé. He would definitely hate it if he found out she knew that. Perhaps she could use the clone to get to know more about Voldemort?  
  
She looked at the clone who had moved to massage her other foot. “Is that all he sees me as: a really good fuck?”  
  
The clone chuckled. “No. He respects you. And believe me, getting Lord Voldemort’s respect is something to be very proud of. He trusts you more than he has trusted any other human before. He even likes you.”  
  
She snorted, not sure she could believe him. “Then, why did he continue to fuck me even though I asked him to stop?”  
  
“Because he wanted to,” the clone said.  
  
“But if he respects me, shouldn’t he respect my wishes?” she asked.  
  
The clone arched an eyebrow. “You are talking about the former Dark Lord, Hermione. He has lived his whole life by taking what he wants. He is used to it. Even though he respects you and is willing to compromise for you, that always weighs up against how much he wants something else. Last night, your wellbeing didn’t weigh as much as his need to control you.”  
  
Hermione considered it. That did sound like the Voldemort she knew. “Why does he want to control me?”  
  
The clone carefully put her foot down on the mattress and moved up next to her on the bed. “Because he wants you, and he can only have what he can control.”  
  
“So he doesn’t trust me to always give him what he wants of me,” she concluded.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
The insight saddened her. How was she supposed to live with that? She knew it was useless to think that she could change him. You can’t force anyone to change; they have to want it themselves. But how could she just accept that this was the sort of person Voldemort was? It wasn’t right. She didn’t like it.  
  
It was a one of those deal breakers in a relationship. If Voldemort had been any other man, Hermione would have left him for that. But Voldemort wasn’t any other man. He was fucking Lord Voldemort and would never let her leave.  
  
Suddenly, it was all too much. She let out a shriek of anger, and the lamps in the room exploded. Not only that, but the sudden darkness from outside told her that even more lamps had exploded. She felt drained: physically, magically and mentally. How on earth was she supposed to handle it all?  
  
She didn’t realise she was crying until she felt a hand on her face, wiping away the tears.  
  
He didn’t feel like Voldemort. That was why she could lean in against him and take comfort from him. The clone showed how unlike Voldemort he was when he didn’t withdraw. Instead, he did something Voldemort had never done: he hugged her tightly and simply held her as she cried. Which was exactly what she needed.  
  
She didn’t know if the clone actually cared about her, but he acted like he did. That was all that mattered right now. She only needed the comfort.  
  
Afterwards, she wasn’t sure how it had happened, but all of a sudden, they were kissing. She almost sucked the comfort out from him, clinging to him as she kissed him forcefully. She needed him.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort felt drained when he had finally cast the _Occulta Mors_ over Potter and his wife. The glamour he had used to look like his old self had already disappeared. Potter stared at him in agony when he finished. The boy was sitting on the bed with his unconscious wife in his lap.  
  
“You understand, then, Potter?” Voldemort asked, carefully hiding how tired he was. Two very complex spells in one night was not something many people could handle. He needed rest. Possibly a fuck with Hermione.  
  
“If I tell anyone about you or try to hurt you in any way, Ginny will die,” Potter said, his voice hollow.  
  
Voldemort nodded. “Good. And this isn’t a spell that allows mistakes. I’ve given you the only chance you’ll get. Even if you are willing to risk your wife’s life, do know that I’ll kill whoever you tell and you as well.”  
  
“You are a monster.”  
  
“Oh, no, how will I be able to look at myself in the mirror?” Voldemort asked dryly, rolling his eyes. “Your wife will wake up once I’ve left. Enjoy your wedding night!”  
  
With that, Voldemort collected the last of his energy and Apparated back to his and Hermione’s flat.  
  
It was completely black in the flat when he arrived. He found the light switch, but nothing happened. Frowning, he lit his wand. The light from it was dim, a display of how exhausted he was. He made his way to the bedroom and heard the unmistakable sound of Hermione’s sexual moans coming from inside.  
  
He opened the door.  
  
From the light of his wand, he could see Hermione on top of his clone, riding him slowly. Voldemort was shocked. How? Why?  
  
In one way, he wasn’t surprised. The clone was his clone after all. He had known this was a risk. At the same time, he felt betrayed by Hermione. How could she do this to him?  
  
If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have started to cast curses all around. As it was, he barely found the energy to fix the light in the room so he could let go of the Lumos Spell. Once he had, Hermione turned her head, looking at him.  
  
It was obvious that she had been crying up until recently. Her eyes were red and so was her nose. She stilled her movements.   
  
“How did it go?”  
  
Voldemort went up to the bed. He looked from the clone to Hermione, back to the clone. “You are having sex with my clone, and you are wondering how it went?” he asked in disbelief.  
  
The clone smiled at him. “Well, is that so strange? You know how worried she is about her friends.”  
  
“You are having sex. With someone other than me,” Voldemort said slowly and aimed his wand at her. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you both right now.”  
  
The clone snorted. “Hello, I’m a clone. I’m not alive to begin with. And I’m a part of you, so technically, she is sleeping with you. You just aren’t feeling it.”  
  
Voldemort aimed his wand at him and prepared to cast the spell that would destroy the clone. However, just as he was about to utter the words, he felt like someone had flicked a switch at him. He hissed and pressed his hand against his head instead. It had begun throbbing like crazy. Salazar, he needed rest. He stumbled to the bed and fell upon it.  
  
“Oh, isn’t this interesting?” the clone observed mildly. “Hermione, dear, as wonderful as it is to be inside you, I think we have to pay some attention to the real me.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.   
  
Voldemort could feel the bed shift when she moved. He tried to get up. He couldn’t show himself weak, not now.  
  
“Magical exhaustion. It happens. With rest, he will be better. That is, if he doesn’t try to kill us both now. Then he could give himself a heart attack,” the clone explained.  
  
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Hermione muttered and moved away from the clone. She took her wand and aimed it at him.  
  
For a moment, Voldemort thought she would curse him, but all she did was make his clothes disappear. Then she made a motion to pull the covers over him, but he stopped her by grasping her wrist.  
  
“What?” she asked, sounding annoyed.  
  
“What are you doing?” he wondered. He might not want to do magic right now, but he could still talk without problem.  
  
“He said you needed rest. I figured I’d just tuck you in so I could go back having sex while I wait for you to gather the strength to tell me what happened with Ginny and Harry.”  
  
His grip on her wrist tightened, and he was about to tell her she couldn’t when a better idea hit him. Or well, not better precisely, but it was what he needed right now.  
  
He looked at the clone. “Take her from behind. I’ll harvest the magical energy as she orgasms.”  
  
“What?” Hermione cried. “Do you think I’ll have sex right in front of you?”  
  
“It didn’t bother you a few minutes ago,” he reminded her tiredly.  
  
“But—”  
  
“Do you want to know what happened to your friends or not?” he asked, cutting her off.  
  
Hermione glared daggers at him. The clone sat up behind her and pressed a kiss against her shoulder.  
  
“I know you want to, Hermione,” it mumbled against her skin. “You were so close when he came. Don’t you want to finish?”  
  
Voldemort could see that she was horny, despite her anger at him. But as the clone’s hand moved down over her stomach and in between her legs, the anger in her eyes lessened.  
  
“You are practically dripping,” the clone said as it kissed its way up her neck. “Does it turn you on, having someone watching? Or is it the sweet satisfaction knowing he will have to watch as someone else is making you come? It could be your revenge at him for what he did. He can’t please you now, and it’s eating him up inside.”  
  
Voldemort growled, his wandhand itching to kill the clone. This seemed to convince Hermione. She tilted her head and met the clone in a kiss. As they kissed, the clone moved Hermione so she was lying on her side, facing Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort moved closer to her, determined to be a part of this in some way. He might be too tired to have sex right now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his body in other ways.  
  
The clone moved Hermione’s knee up on Voldemort’s thigh before embracing her from behind. Hermione let out a soft moan as the clone entered her. Her eyes were closed, but when Voldemort brought his hand up and stroked her cheek, she opened them again. Her gaze was glassy. She was so beautiful, and he cursed that he wasn’t the one who was inside her right now. Voldemort stroked her lip with his thumb, letting it move inside her mouth. She met the finger with her tongue.  
  
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, it was like nothing had happened between them. He removed his thumb and used his hand to bring her closer to him. Their lips met in a searing kiss. Hermione moaned loudly into his mouth, her hand coming up to his head, gripping his hair. She was sucking on his lower lip almost painfully, but Voldemort didn’t mind.  
  
Another hand came up on Voldemort’s shoulder. He opened one eye and saw the clone giving him a nod. She was about to come. Closing his eyes again, Voldemort prepared to receive the magical energy. At first, it was only a small thread of magic, but Voldemort inhaled it as if it were oxygen. When she climaxed, it rushed into him and he fell like a thirsty man caught in a waterfall. It was almost too much too fast, but Voldemort forced himself to absorb it all. He needed it.  
  
As she came down from her high, Voldemort felt like a new man. A horny, new man. He hadn’t got to have sex all day, and there was a hot, naked, moaning woman in front of him.  
  
Before she had time to react, he pulled her closer to him, making the clone slip out of her. He then pushed inside of her, moaning in pleasure.  
  
“Oi!” the clone growled. “I wasn’t finished!”  
  
“I’m ever so sad for you,” Voldemort said, shuddering with pleasure at being inside her. _Home sweet home._  
  
“Voldemort,” Hermione groaned. “You can’t just— Ah!”  
  
He had adjusted his angle, hitting her G-spot. He knew her body well enough to be sure that the movement would shut her up for a little while.  
  
The clone, however, wasn’t pleased. “Then you suck me off.”  
  
Voldemort glared at him, never once missing a stroke inside Hermione. “You, more than anyone else, know I don’t suck off other men.”  
  
“I’m not ‘other men’. I’m you!” the clone complained and sat up in the bed. “Very well, I didn’t want to do this …”  
  
The clone trailed off and stuck a finger into its mouth.  
  
If Voldemort hadn’t been so focused on Hermione, he might have realised what the clone was up to. It was, after all, something he would have done if he had been in the same position as the clone. As it were now, he was rather shocked when the clone moved behind Voldemort. The next moment, Voldemort felt something wet against his anus.  
  
Voldemort fell on top of Hermione when the finger found his prostate. It was a long time since anyone had stimulated his prostate that way, because Voldemort didn’t like it. Or rather, he liked it a bit too much. He liked taking his time during sex and always controlled his own orgasm. When someone pushed against his prostate, the climax overtook him in a matter of seconds. Thus, he had an orgasm.  
  
He was still trembling in post-orgasmic bliss when he was pushed aside by the clone who immediately took his place between Hermione’s legs.  
  
“You two are driving me insane!” Hermione cried.  
  
“He started it,” the clone remarked before leaning in and kissing her.  
  
Voldemort got control over himself and grabbed his wand at the same time as the clone climaxed as well.  
  
When the clone saw the wand, it smiled. “So worth it.”  
  
Voldemort disintegrated it.  
  
“What did you do that for?” Hermione growled.  
  
“He fucked you,” Voldemort spat. He didn’t mention the finger. Hermione shouldn’t know that.  
  
“He was your clone! He was only cheering me up,” Hermione objected. “He said making me happy was part of his reason for being, because you had thought about that when you created him.”  
  
Voldemort stared down at her. Could that be true? Sure, he had wanted Hermione to be happy again, but could that really have translated into the clone? Intention was very important when it came to that type of magic. Hm, that would explain why the clone had managed to do things Voldemort didn’t want it to do. It had done it because it would make Hermione happy, which was a thing Voldemort wanted.  
  
“Well, now he is gone,” Voldemort spat. “He served his purpose. Ginevra no longer believes that Marcus is Lord Voldemort.”  
  
Hermione’s expression changed from annoyance to worry. “How did it go, then? Had she figured it all out?”  
  
“There were things she didn’t think made sense, like that I would be engaged to you,” Voldemort answered honestly. “And she didn’t want to believe who I really was, but she knew. However, her unwillingness to believe the truth helped, so when she saw ‘Marcus’ at the wedding, she convinced herself that she had just been paranoid.”  
  
“But?” Hermione asked, slowly sitting up in the bed.  
  
“Harry realised who I was when I talked to him. He knows.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”  
  
“I didn’t kill him, for you sake,” Voldemort said softly.  
  
Hermione regarded him closely. “But …?”  
  
“But I did cast the _Occulta Mors_ over him. If he tries to hurt me or tell anyone about me, Ginevra will die.”  
  
Her hand came up to her mouth. She looked appalled.  
  
“What would you have me do then, kitten?” he asked, placing his hand on her stomach. “I spared his life, but you know just as well as I do that we can’t trust him to keep my secret. He wants me dead or at least imprisoned. I did it for our family.”  
  
Hermione swallowed. “Why Ginny?”  
  
“Isn’t that obvious? The boy would be stupid enough to risk his own life by revealing me. But he would never risk the life of his wife. This is the best for everyone.”  
  
“Except for Harry,” Hermione said softly and sank down. “He must be devastated.”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “What would you have done in my position? With our history, there would have been no reasoning with him. I didn’t harm him or Ginevra. Nothing has to happen to them. They can live a long and happy life for all I care.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. “Harry won’t. This will eat him up inside. Why couldn’t you just cast a memory charm?”  
  
Voldemort shook his head. “You know a memory charm wouldn’t work on an Auror.”  
  
Hermione looked down, not saying anything.  
  
“You must realise that this is for the best,” Voldemort repeated. “I know you care for your friends, but you have to put your own family first. Think about Althea. And this one.”  
  
He stroked her belly.  
  
A motion in her belly, right under where his hand was, made him shrink back in surprise.  
  
“What was that?” he asked. Was something wrong?  
  
“The baby kicked,” Hermione said with a smile, moving her own hand down to her belly.  
  
Voldemort moved his hand back down to her stomach. The baby kicked again.   
  
“It seems to know who its father is,” he mused. This was good; it helped him win his argument about Potter. Voldemort rubbed her belly slowly. “We are a family, Hermione. Families look after each other. I do believe our vows will say ‘in sickness and in health’. Well, this is the sick part.”  
  
Hermione was silent a whole minute before she carefully lifted his hand off her stomach. “A wife shouldn’t have to fear her husband, though.”  
  
“And a husband shouldn’t have to fear his wife either,” Voldemort replied.  
  
She looked up at him with a scowl. “You can’t make me believe you would ever fear me.”  
  
“Fear may be a strong word,” he agreed. “But you have tried to kill me once, Hermione. I haven’t tried to kill you.”  
  
Her scowl lessened. “You know why I did that.”  
  
He nodded. “You were disappointed in me for being me.”  
  
“You killed dozens of Muggles and came back to my bed to fuck me!” she exclaimed.  
  
“Still, you tried to kill me. I know I’ve hurt and tortured you when I’ve been angry with you. It’s not that surprising, I was the Dark Lord. Yet, you are the one who tried to kill me.”  
  
Hermione looked down. She seemed to still feel a little guilty for trying to kill him. Good, he could work on that. He was just about to keep pushing her, but her next statement caught him completely off guard.  
  
“I think I need a break,” she said slowly.  
  
His first instinct was to tell her no, but then he realised that he didn’t know what she really meant. She knew he would never let her go forever.   
  
“A break?”  
  
She nodded. “Some time away from you. This is all messing with my head. I need to just get away and be with myself for a short period.”  
  
“Define a short period,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.   
  
He could go a few days without her. As long as she came to the conclusion that she missed him. Well, he could certainly make sure of that. If she came back to him of her own free will, she would be less likely to leave again.  
  
“I don’t know. Not too long, two days or so this first time. Then maybe, in the future, I could go take small retreats?”   
  
Her tone was careful. She seemed aware that he was unwilling to grant her this. At the same time, he was pleased. She was asking him instead of telling him. That was a good sign.  
  
“Very well. But I want to know where you’ll be going and how long you’ll be away,” he told her.  
  
Hermione frowned. “Sure, I can tell you, but I don’t want you to show up there just because you are horny. I need some space.”  
  
He considered it for a moment, then he nodded. “Fine. When and where do you plan to take this first break?”  
  
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know where, but I would really want to go now and stay a night away when Althea wakes up—”  
  
“Althea stays here,” Voldemort interrupted her, his voice hardening. He had to have some guarantee that she would be back.  
  
“Fine,” Hermione agreed after a moment of hesitation.  
  
“Good. Then may I suggest a place for you to go?”  
  
Hermione nodded. As he suspected, she hadn’t thought about this for too long and hadn’t come up with any details. She just wanted to get away from him for a little while. Well, he would just make sure she came running back.  
  
“I know about a spa at the south coast. If you want to relax, I can’t think of a better place.”  
  
She considered it. “That sounds lovely. But do you think they will have any rooms available at such short notice?”  
  
“For me, they will,” he said, a smug smile on his face.  
  
“You don’t plan to kill anyone, I hope?” Hermione asked wryly.  
  
“Oh, no. All that is needed is money, which I happen to have a lot of. Just remember to do the ritual to keep the fairies out from where you sleep,” he reminded her, “and to wear the jewellery I gave you, so if someone tries to harm you, I will know.”  
  
“I will,” she promised and made an attempt to unlit the lamp on her nightstand.  
  
Voldemort stopped her by taking her hand. She looked him, puzzled.  
  
“I really am sorry,” he said, his best sincere expression in place.  
  
He wasn’t sure she believed him. But she sighed and squeezed his hand.   
  
“You have a lot of making up to do.”  
  
Voldemort realised that. He was sure he would manage just dandy.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to my wonderful betas, Shan84 and Nerys.

**Chapter 32  
**  
After breakfast, Hermione left for her retreat. Not even five minutes had gone by after her departure before Voldemort regretted agreeing to it.  
  
Althea wouldn’t stop crying. She stood by the closed front door and cried out for her mother, wanting her to come back. Since Hermione had already Disapparated, she, of course, couldn’t hear her daughter. Therefore, Voldemort was left all alone to comfort his daughter.  
  
He sat down on the floor next to the door. “ _Althea, you are being childish now_ ,” he told her sternly in Parseltongue “ _Your mother needs some time alone,_ _and you are going to stay here with me._ ”  
  
Althea just looked at him with big, sad eyes for a short moment before she began crying again.  
  
Voldemort wanted to hit her, but she would no doubt tell on him the moment Hermione came back. That would not improve things with Hermione at all.  
  
“ _Stop crying_ ,” he tried ordering. Alas, the girl didn’t seem to understand that you always followed Lord Voldemort’s orders. She was so like her mother.  
  
“ _Fine, sit there and cry for all I care_ ,” Voldemort growled and stood up. “ _When you calm down, tell me and I’ll give you a bath._ ”  
  
He cast a silencing spell over the hall so he wouldn’t have to hear her cries. He needed to get some work done. With everything that had happened the last couple of days, he had fallen behind on his grading.   
  
It only took fifteen minutes before Althea came back from her sulking. She still didn’t look happy, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.  
  
“ _Are you ready for your bath_?” Voldemort asked her in Parseltongue.  
  
“ _Can you read me a story first_?”  
  
“ _We can do it after your bath_ ,” Voldemort promised and stood up.  
  
Althea agreed. Half an hour later, they were both sitting on the couch, Althea on his lap. He had asked her to sit next to him, but she sought to look at the text with him. Since Voldemort wanted Althea to be able to read as quickly as possibly (so he wouldn’t have to read for her), he agreed.  
  
The story Althea chose was a myth from the Egyptian Mythology. Her grandparents had sent her a book, which contained myths from all around the world for her birthday. This particular myth was about how the god Osiris was killed by his brother Seth and brought back to life by his wife Isis.  
  
“ _Dad, what happens after you die_?” Althea asked, sounding curious.  
  
The question caught Voldemort off guard. He had no idea how to answer that. He would never die, so he hadn’t given it much thought. However, he knew that others died. He also knew that there were countless of different guesses on what happened after death. There were some known fates, like turning into a ghost or a vampire, but that didn’t happen to most people.  
  
“ _No one really knows_ ,” he said slowly.  
  
“ _Why not_?”  
  
“ _Because no one has_ _come back from death_ _and told us what happens. Well, except for ghosts,_ _they can talk about their Deathday for hours. However, those I’ve talked to_ _seem to think there is something beyond being a ghost as well, but they don’t know what_.”  
  
“ _Have you met a ghost_?” Althea asked, horrified.  
  
“ _Several. Don’t worry,_ _my dear, they can’t hurt you_ ,” he quickly assured her. “ _They are quite friendly_.”  
  
Althea hugged his arm tightly. “ _I don’t want to meet a ghost_.”  
  
He stroked her hair in comfort. “ _Don’t worry dear, no ghost can come in here. And if one should come in, you can just tell them you are my daughter. That will make them leave you alone_.”  
  
“ _But Dad, you aren’t as scary as a ghost_!” Althea objected.  
  
Voldemort laughed. “ _Believe me, I am_.” He shut the book and put it on the coffee table. “ _Do you want your colouring books_ _or would you like to play with your toys_ _while I work?”_  
  
“ _Colouring,”_ Althea said after a moment of thought and slid down from his lap.   
  
Voldemort kissed her forehead before he stood up to get the book. Hermione was always showing the girl a lot of physical affection, so he guessed that was the right thing to do. Althea seemed to appreciate it. In fact, she seemed to have lost all ill feelings she might have previously had against him. Perhaps it was time for him to try to find out what sort of ideas the fairies had given Althea and undermine them? Yes, he would work on it while Hermione was gone.

 

xxx

  
The spa hotel Voldemort had booked for Hermione lay on the south coast of England. She got her first appointment in the spa at ten. It was a massage that left Hermione much more relaxed than she had been all year. She also booked a pedicure for later that evening. Even though she wasn’t at her biggest, she was already experiencing difficulties with bending down to reach her feet.  
  
After the massage, she spent the hours before lunch catching up on her school work. With everything going on, she had fallen behind, and it was very relaxing to finally get it done without being interrupted by either Voldemort or Althea. She missed Althea, though. She hadn’t been away from her daughter for any longer than a few hours in the past year, and being away now made her feel anxious. What if something happened and Voldemort couldn’t figure out what to do?  
  
Hermione scolded herself. Voldemort hadn’t been happy letting her go. If anything happened to Althea, Voldemort would love to use it as an excuse to bring her back home. The best she could do was to get her studies out of the way so she could spend time with Althea when she came home again.  
  
It was around two o’clock when she took a break and stretched, looking around the room. The sun was shining through the big French windows, showcasing the dark-blue ocean outside. It was a shame to be inside when it was such a beautiful day. Perhaps she should have dinner in town and take a walk afterwards?  
  
Her eyes wandered over the cosy room she was staying in. It was decorated in a romantic tone. The queen-sized bed had a bedspread with blue and pink roses. The wallpaper held the same print, and the carpet was soft beige. It was ridiculous how many roses one room could contain. A small vase in china, painted with roses in many different colours, stood on the nightstand. The white desk she was sitting at had carvings of roses all around the edges as did the chair. In the bathroom, there was even a real rose standing in a vase on a cabinet.  
  
The overly mellifluous decoration aside, the hotel was probably what she needed right now. The personnel were very helpful, and the atmosphere was quite relaxing. Best of all, Voldemort had promised to pay for anything she wanted, which was really surprising since it was a Muggle hotel in a Muggle city. Hermione chuckled to herself. Perhaps she should go to Muggle stores and buy a lot of things as well?  
  
However, first, she wanted to finish the essay she was writing on.  
  
It was just after five when Hermione left the hotel. It didn’t take long to walk into town, and Hermione would have found it very enjoyable if it weren’t for the wind. It made her hair fly all over her face, blocking her vision. After fifteen minutes, Hermione grew sick of it and decided to just go to the first open place.  
  
It was a small Asian restaurant, and the smell of chicken had Hermione’s stomach growling in hunger. She ordered and sat down near the wall where she could watch the other people in the restaurant. It wasn’t very crowded, probably because it was in the middle of the week and most people were just finishing work by now. Two families with young children occupied two tables in the middle of the room. They were the noisiest, but Hermione didn’t mind. It wouldn’t be long until she had to endure the screams of a newborn again. She might as well get used to it.  
  
She had just got her food and had begun to eat when an elderly couple came and sat down at the table next to hers. At first, Hermione didn’t take too much notice of them at all; her eyes were on the adorable two-year-old who was playing with a dinosaur toy. However, when the waitress had brought the old couple some water, Hermione saw the female sneak out something long and pointy from the inside of her jacket. A wand.  
  
Trying not to be obvious in her curiosity, she listened in on their conversation.  
  
“—pumpkin juice,” the woman muttered.   
  
She appeared to be over seventy, which, if she were a witch, meant that she was probably even older.  
  
“I still think it wouldn’t hurt for you to try a Muggle beverage,” the man replied.   
  
He seemed a bit younger than the female. Perhaps her son?   
  
“Just be glad I agreed to this at all.” She huffed. “Why do you insist on bringing me here again after all these years?”  
  
“Call me nostalgic,” the man answered with a sigh. “I just wanted to remember the place where we first met.” He sneaked a hand across the table and grasped the woman’s, stroking it slowly and lovingly.  
  
Okay, so not mother and son, Hermione concluded.  
  
The old woman stroked his hand back and her voice softened.   
  
“You’re right, my love.” Then she pulled back her hand and opened her menu. “What do you suggest we order, then?” Her voice had got back its hard no-nonsense edge again.  
  
Hermione smiled down at her plate. It was quite clear the couple loved each other. She found it very sweet, but at the same time, she felt sad. Even if she and Voldemort were still a couple when she was as old as that lady, she doubted he would ever look at her that lovingly. He didn’t love.   
  
_But he does have feelings_ _for me_ , a small voice in her head reminded her.  
  
 _Right, but not enough to not hurt me, physically and emotionally_ , a darker voice in her replied.   
  
Hermione sliced her chicken more forcefully than she needed. Life was unfair! What had she ever done to deserve Voldemort?  
  
Chewing the delicious and quite expensive chicken, she remembered that it wasn’t all bad. She had Althea and financial security as well as help with her career. The sex was great, and you could call Voldemort many things but boring wasn’t one of them.   
  
It could be worse.  
  
She ate the rest of her dinner in deep thought. After maybe twenty minutes, she called for the cheque.  
  
As she stood up to leave, she experienced a head-rush that made her knees weak. She made an attempt to sit down again, but somehow, she confused her distance to the chair and landed on the floor.  
  
“Dear Merlin, are you alright?” A hand came out to help her up.  
  
Hermione grabbed it and slowly rose from the floor. When she looked up, she saw that it was the old man that had helped her. Now he guided her back to her chair again.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said, carefully rubbing the small of her back.  
  
“Oh, you are bleeding!” the man exclaimed. He quickly grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it against her nose.  
  
Hermione cursed and leaned her head backwards. She seldom got nosebleeds, but the last time she was pregnant, she had got them quite often for a period. There was a spell that usually helped, but she didn’t want to pull out her wand in a room filled with Muggles.  
  
Thankfully, someone else didn’t have such qualms. Hermione felt a tingle of magic in her nose and it immediately stopped bleeding. She straightened her neck and looked up to see the old witch standing in front of her, blocking her from the curious stares of the rest of the restaurant.  
  
Hermione gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”  
  
The woman arched her eyebrow in question. “What for?”  
  
“The spell,” Hermione said in a low voice. “I would have done it myself, but being in a Muggle restaurant …” she trailed off, shrugging.  
  
“Another witch,” the man said in a low but excited voice. “How delightful!”  
  
Hermione smiled, uncertain if she should say anything else or just thank them again and take her leave. Before she could make up her mind, the other witch addressed her.  
  
“I recognise you.” The older woman wrinkled her forehead for a short moment before realisation hit her. “Aren’t you that Granger girl the newspaper wrote about a lot during the war? The Muggle-born friend to Harry Potter?”  
  
“I am,” Hermione said slowly, feeling the usual discomfort whenever people remembered her from newspapers.  
  
The wizard’s broad smile, however, calmed Hermione somewhat.   
  
“Merlin’s beard, imagine Shannon, being at the same restaurant as a war hero!”  
  
The witch, Shannon, didn’t look as amused, but she seemed interested nevertheless.   
  
“Why yes, I do believe this restaurant business was worth it. Would you like to join us for dessert?”  
  
“I-I don’t know; I don’t want to intrude,” Hermione started, not sure what she really wanted. On the one hand, it could be nice to have a civil conversation with mature wizards without the fear of being tortured for her opinions (even though it had been some time since Voldemort had done that). On the other hand, she wasn’t too keen to talk about things that she had done during the war if that were what they were after.  
  
“Nonsense,” the witch said. “We have been married for forty years; we’ve got no new tales to tell each other. Please, join us.”  
  
Not seeing how she could say no to that politely (and not wanting to be impolite to the couple that just helped her), she agreed and pulled a chair to their table. The old wizard called the waiter over, ordering them cake for dessert.  
  
“Please, allow me to introduce us,” the wizard said. “I’m Daniel Alperton and this is my wife, Shannon. And please, call me Daniel.”  
  
“Nice to meet you Daniel, Shannon,” Hermione said, starting to get the feeling her smile looked a bit strained. “Well, I’m Hermione Granger, obviously.”  
  
Daniel laughed. He seemed like an easily amused person. He had very noticeable laughter lines on his slightly red face. In many ways, he looked like the complete opposite of his wife, who seemed to have more frown lines. Their bodies were also each other’s opposite. She was short and slender, while he was long and broad. Even though she looked older, her hair was completely black whilst his had obviously gone white with age. Her eyes were dark and his were pale blue.  
  
“What are you doing here in the Muggle world, then, Hermione?” Shannon asked, clearly curious, even though Hermione didn’t understand why. It was usually Harry whom the strangers wanted to talk about with her. Unless they were students at her school, then they usually just wanted to discuss schoolwork.  
  
“I’m on a small vacation,” Hermione explained.  
  
Shannon’s dark eyes swept over her. “You’re pregnant,” she noted.  
  
Hermione placed her hand on her stomach. There was a bump there, of course, but she had thought her loose clothing hid it.   
  
“Yes, how did you know?”  
  
“I was a Healer for quite some time,” Shannon explained with a humourless smile. “Old habits die hard.”  
  
“Oh, I see. Well, it won’t be long until everyone notices, I guess,” Hermione said. “So, why are you here? On vacation as well?”  
  
“No, we are just here for the night,” Daniel answered her. “Shannon and I are celebrating—this is where we met forty years ago.”  
  
“That’s sweet,” Hermione said. “How did you both meet?”  
  
“We ran into each other, quite literally,” Shannon said, and now the smile reached her eyes. “It was love at first touch, so to speak.”  
  
It was something in the way she said it that made Hermione very curious. Did she mean touch like the type of touch Hermione and Voldemort had, or did she mean it in an attempt to be funny? If they had literally ran into each other, then they probably hadn’t seen each other before they touched.  
  
The waiter came in with three plates of cake, and Daniel raised his wineglass. “Well, cheers to war heroes, pregnancies and anniversaries!”  
  
Hermione took her water and chimed in. They had quite a pleasant hour chitchatting about nothing in particular. Hermione wanted to find out more about what their “first touch” entailed, but she didn’t know how she should best approach them for more information about their relationship. She didn’t find it very polite to ask them what they did when they were touching. After all, they clearly were older than even Voldemort.  
  
When they had finished eating, Daniel insisted that they escorted Hermione back to the hotel. “It’s such a lovely evening, and it would be nice to stretch my legs.”  
  
Shannon didn’t object, and they made their way outside.  
  
“Isn’t this city beautiful?” Daniel asked as they walked down the main street. It was an old city with a cobbled street. The houses on either side of the road were old-fashioned as well.  
  
“It is,” Hermione agreed. “Do you come here every year for your anniversary?”  
  
“No, our last time was quite a while ago now. Shannon isn’t very comfortable around Muggles, are you dear?” He winked at his wife and offered her his arm.  
  
Shannon took it, amusement flashing through her eyes. “At least I manage to stay around you.” At Hermione’s questioning look, she added, “He is a Muggle-born, you see.”  
  
“Oh,” Hermione said, not sure how else she should comment on it.  
  
“Shannon, isn’t that the street where we met?” Daniel cried out, saving Hermione from having to answer. He was pointing towards an alley.  
  
“Yes, I believe it is,” Shannon said, amused, stopping.  
  
Hermione stopped as well, finding it rather romantic that they would remember these small details after all these years. Would she and Voldemort make nostalgic trips to the pub where they met for the first time when they were at that age? Somehow, she doubted it.  
  
“This was an excellent Apparition point back in the days,” Daniel explained and took one step into the alley. It was a one-way street. At the end of it, a big dumpster was standing, right next to a door. Hermione guessed it belonged to the restaurant on their right.  
  
She could see the use of the place as an Apparition point. The alley was small, but the end of it lay in the shadows so it wasn’t visible from the main road. She doubted many Muggles ventured down here. Probably only the restaurant workers, if they needed to throw out something.  
  
“Are you really sure it’s here?” Shannon asked and took a few steps up the street. “There is a similar alley just down here.”  
  
“No, I’m certain it was here,” Daniel said and took a few more steps down into the alley. Hermione turned to look at him as he walked away from her and Shannon. “Don’t you remember, you were just Apparating in here, and then you fell down, and I helped you up … hm...”  
  
Hermione held back a chuckle as he made a show of looking down at the street, like trying to find their footprints. They really seemed like an amusing couple.  
  
“Oh, what does it matter,” Daniel said, with a dismissive gesture. “The point is that we met in this alley and lived happily ever after.”  
  
“You are quite right, dear,” Shannon replied. Hermione turned around again so she could see the other woman make a gesture for her husband to come over to her. “Well, after that little stop, why don’t we continue towards the hotel?”  
  
They hadn’t even taken three steps when a _pop_ was heard and a figure appeared right behind them, in the alley. Hermione spun around and stared in disbelief at Voldemort who had his wand raised, looking very suspicious. When he spotted Hermione, he quickly reached out and pulled her to him, stepping down in the alley, out of view from the street. Then he turned his attention to the other couple.  
  
“Now, I want to know which one of you used Dark Arts on my fiancée.”  
  
“What?” Hermione stared at Voldemort in disbelief, holding a tight grip at the arm he had encircled her with. “We were just talking and …” She looked at the other couple and trailed off when she saw Daniel’s guilty expression.  
  
Shannon merely seemed despondent. “It wasn’t a curse. It was only a scanning spell.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why would Shannon have used a Dark Arts spell on her to begin with? What was she scanning for?  
  
“Do you take me for a fool? There are no Dark Arts scanning spells. Scanning spells are harmless.”  
  
“I invented it myself,” Shannon stated. “And we didn’t mean any harm to come to Hermione. We merely wanted to know if she had a Shared Flame.”  
  
“What?” Hermione asked, shocked. Then she remembered what Shannon had said just before they walked into the alley. Daniel was a Muggle-born. “You have a Shared Flame as well.”  
  
“We do,” Daniel confessed, taking his wife’s hand. “We were only curious to see if you had one.”  
  
“Why would you want to know that?” Voldemort asked, but he didn’t sound as aggressive anymore, and he had lessened his grip around Hermione’s waist somewhat.  
  
Daniel and Shannon didn’t look at each other, but Hermione got a weird feeling they were somehow communicating with each other. They stood silent for too long for it to just be a coincidence.  
  
However, their silence gave Hermione time to realise something else. She looked up at Voldemort. “Where is Althea?”  
  
He didn’t look away from the other couple. “Asleep. If she wakes up, I’ll know.”  
  
Since it was still quite early in the evening, Hermione doubted Althea had fallen asleep on her own. However, if he had thought that Hermione was being hurt, it wasn’t like he could take the time to call in the nanny. All their wards would protect Althea from any outside danger, and if she were in a magical induced sleep, she could not harm herself. Besides, this would probably not take long, and they could go back to Althea later.  
  
She turned her attention to Daniel and Shannon again.  
  
“Well? Why did you want to know whether Hermione had a Shared Flame?” Voldemort asked them again.   
  
Hermione could hear that he was losing his patience.  
  
“I scan every Muggle-born I come in contact with if I have the opportunity. For the past thirty years or so, I’ve been conducting research on the matter, and it’s very hard to find subjects to study,” Shannon admitted. “There seem to be many benefits from such a connection and, as I’ve discovered, many more to uncover with the right determination and techniques. I track down other couples so that I can improve the magic of a Shared Flame.” She hesitated.  
  
“Go on,” Voldemort urged, but he didn’t sound as threatening anymore.  
  
“Since you seem to be familiar with the term Shared Flame, I assume you have read Mr Bäcker’s book on the subject?” she inquired.  
  
Voldemort nodded.  
  
“Then you are aware that at least one part of the Shared Flame is Muggle-born,” Shannon concluded. “There is maybe one Muggle-born in a thousand that have a Shared Flame. During the last thirty years, I’ve had three couples who have been willing to help me. One couple passed away ten years ago of natural causes. The other two couples were killed during the Dark Lord’s regime.”  
  
Hermione had to resist sending Voldemort a glare of blame. Voldemort, however, had focused on something else.  
  
“What sort of benefits have you discovered?” he asked, clearly interested but still very cautious.  
  
Daniel looked around in the alley. “Perhaps we could discuss this at a better location, Mr …?”  
  
“Foster,” Voldemort said and finally lowered his wand. “Marcus Foster. And you are?”  
  
“Daniel Alperton, and this is my wife, Shannon,” Daniel said, gesturing at the other witch. “We really didn’t mean Hermione any harm, Mr Foster. If she hadn’t had an active Shared Flame, nothing would have happened. We would simply have escorted her to her hotel and then been on our way. I know Dark Arts are considered the worst type of magic, and although I admit the spell can be used for bad purposes, no one is hurt when it’s cast.”  
  
Shannon looked directly at Hermione. “When we saw that you had an active Shared Flame, we planned to tell you everything. However, your fiancé interrupted us.”  
  
They both looked sincere. Daniel looked a little like a sad puppy while Shannon appeared more solemn. Hermione did believe them to an extent. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to hear them out? She looked up at Voldemort who was still regarding them closely. When he felt her gaze, he turned his attention to her.  
  
“What do you say, my dear?” he asked.  
  
“I don’t think it can hurt. They have been very friendly the entire night. I don’t think they meant to harm me,” Hermione answered, giving Daniel a smile. If the Alpertons did mean to harm her,Voldemort would no doubt go all Dark Lord-y on them.  
  
“Good,” Daniel said happily. “Why don’t we make an appointment later this week and have a chat? There is a lot to be said and tested if you are willing to undergo them. You could come over to us for afternoon tea?”  
  
“Very well,” Voldemort said before Hermione had the time to. “How about Friday? We have to check with the nanny so she can stay with our daughter.”  
  
Shannon opened her handbag and withdrew a small card. “Friday will do. Here is our address. Just come around teatime.”  
  
Voldemort accepted the card and put it inside his robe before Hermione had time to see what it said. She repressed a scowl.  
  
“Until Friday then,” Voldemort said.  
  
After saying their goodbyes, the Alpertons Disapparated. Voldemort turned to Hermione.  
  
“I do know I promised to leave you alone for the day,” Voldemort began, “but I do think we should discuss this right away.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “I know. We should.”  
  
“Do you want me to follow you to the hotel, or do you want to come home?” he asked.  
  
She frowned. He was behaving much more politely than she had ever seen him. Why was that? Not that it mattered right now; there was only one answer to that question.   
  
“Home. Althea shouldn’t be alone this long.”  
  
“She is perfectly safe,” Voldemort objected, a frown of annoyance appearing on his forehead. “She’s asleep.”  
  
“A magically induced sleep, I suspect,” Hermione remarked, and when Voldemort seemed to be about to object more forcefully, she added: “I’m not blaming you. The necklace must have reacted to the spell, and you thought I was being attacked. But I don’t want her to be in a magical sleep for longer than she has to.”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “Very well. Let’s go home then.”  
  
They Apparated, and a moment later, Hermione was standing inside her own combined living room and kitchen. She arched an eyebrow when she saw the books spread out all over the coffee table and Althea’s crayons spread out on the floor. Althea herself was lying on the sofa with a protective blue glow around her.  
  
“I was in the middle of my research,” Voldemort muttered as he walked over to Althea.  
  
“I can see that. On what subject?” Hermione asked, picking up the nearest book. It seemed to be about magical theory.  
  
“A little bit of this and that,” Voldemort responded and waved his wand over Althea.  
  
The young girl mumbled something and turned to her side but didn’t wake up.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, putting the book down again.  
  
“Not at all. She has just slipped into an ordinary sleep. I’ll put her to bed,” Voldemort said, lifting the girl up in his arms and carrying her towards her bedroom.  
  
Hermione was disappointed. She would have liked to say hello to Althea since she still planned to go back to the hotel once she and Voldemort had had their discussion. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t wake her daughter up just for that. Althea needed her sleep.  
  
Sighing, she sat down in the couch and waited for Voldemort. He came back only a minute later, carefully shutting the door behind him and placing a silencing spell over it.  
  
“How did you meet the Alpertons?” he asked as he sat down on the couch next to her.  
  
Hermione told him about her visit to the restaurant and their offer to see her back to the hotel.  
  
Voldemort sat thoughtful when she finished. “The woman was a Dark Arts mistress; I’ve heard about her before.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “ _Was_?”  
  
He nodded. “She is about twenty years older than I am and was well-known back in the days. She invented several … _interesting_ spells. I only heard about her, though. When I was starting to gather followers the first time around, I did plan to seek her out, but by then, she had already stopped with the Dark Arts.”  
  
“You can do that?” Hermione asked, puzzled. She had read that the Dark Arts were addictive in some ways.  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Of course you can. I just don’t see why anyone would want to. Dark Arts aren’t any more addictive than other types of magic. That’s just Ministry propaganda.”  
  
Hermione didn’t really believe him, but she knew too little about the subject to start an argument. Besides, they had other things to discuss.  
  
“Why did she stop, then?”  
  
“She fell in love,” Voldemort said, sounding both a bit disgusted and superior, like he would never make the same “mistake”.  
  
“She found her Shared Flame,” Hermione concluded.  
  
Voldemort grunted.  
  
“Do you think she is right, then?” Hermione asked after a moment of silence. “Do you think she has discovered benefits of having a Shared Flame?”  
  
“I think she has the competence to do it,” Voldemort answered. “And I don’t think we are putting ourselves in any immediate danger by going there. However, as always, it’s important to be critical and careful.”  
  
“Obviously.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I should be leaving then. I have a pedicure now at eight, and then, I have an essay to finish before I go to bed …”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
Was that a flash of disappointment she saw in his face? If it were, it was gone the next second. He stood up and held out his hand to help her up.  
  
Hermione took it. Maybe it was because she had been without his touch for the entire day, but the spark felt stronger than it had in quite some time. A shudder of something she didn’t care to venture deeper into went through her and she withdrew her hand the moment she stood up.  
  
Voldemort’s eyes were unreadable. “Until tomorrow then.”  
  
She nodded and without another word, she Disapparated.  
  
Even though she was away from Voldemort, she couldn’t stop the tingling over her body, which had occured when they had touched. It wasn’t the normal you-have-touched-me-and-therefore-I’m-horny feeling, but rather an unsatisfied need for something. The feeling only increased during the pedicure. She had never noticed how sensitive her feet were, but it did feel awfully good to get one. A bit too good even.   
  
When she returned to her hotel room an hour later, she tried to forget about the weird horniness and just study. It didn’t go well, and thus, she went to bed. Alas, sleep eluded her.  
  
She lay, staring at the ceiling for half an hour before deciding to just masturbate and be done with it. She let her hands wander over her naked breasts and closed her eyes, imagining that someone else was there, stroking her body. Her skin was already hot underneath her hands, and she was already slick with arousal . It didn’t take many minutes before her hands found her sex. She pushed two fingers inside her and started to manipulate her clit with the other hand.  
  
She tried to focus only on the exquisite feeling, but something was lacking. Her body didn’t usually feel this empty and lonely when she was reaching an orgasm. Her arm was growing tired as well. Did Voldemort feel this tired when he was fingering her?   
  
Oh Merlin, she wished he was here fingering her instead.  
  
Hermione opened her eyes when the thought hit her. She wanted to fuck him. What was stopping her from doing just that? A weak voice in the back of her head reminded her of what had happened, but the horny voice inside her was louder. Why shouldn’t she just Apparate back to her flat and fuck her husband-to-be?  
  
Yes. He didn’t have a say in it. It wasn’t like he had ever asked; why should she? No, this time, she wanted to be in control. Merlin, that thought made her even hornier.  
  
Her mind set on a single goal, she got out of bed and Apparated straight to their bedroom. She hadn’t even managed to take one step towards the bed before Voldemort was sitting up, his wand pointing at her. She stopped and raised her hands, showing that she was unarmed.  
  
“Hermione? What are you doing here?” he asked, his face softening as he lowered his wand.  
  
Once she was sure he wouldn’t hex her, she walked up in the bed. “Just shut up,” she commanded and pulled the covers away from him before straddling his lap.  
  
Voldemort looked like he was about to say something so Hermione attacked his mouth with hers, preventing him from ruining it for her. Voldemort didn’t object. Instead, he eagerly responded, both with his mouth and his cock, which grew hard almost instantly. He fell back down on the bed again and she followed, grinding her groin against his.  
  
When she was convinced that he was hard enough, she moaned into his mouth and used her hand to steer him inside her. Merlin, it felt heavenly! She closed her eyes and began riding him in a furious speed. She had too much pent-up frustration inside of her to be able to slow down.  
  
Voldemort’s hands came up on her hips, trying to control the pace. Hermione let out a growl and pulled his hands away, moving them to the side of his head. She let go of his mouth and gave him a look of warning before continuing.  
  
He was smirking at her but didn’t fight her. When she clenched the muscles inside her cunt, his smirk turned into a moan of pleasure and he closed his eyes again. With a satisfied smile, Hermione turned to her own pleasure. It was really remarkable how good this felt. Why had she left again?  
  
No, better not venture there.   
  
Instead, she brought her hand down to her clitoris and began stimulating it with her fingers. She could hear from Voldemort’s panting that he was close as well. Despite that her legs were already growing tired, she sped up, taking him as far inside her as she could.  
  
It only took her a minute to climax, and she could feel that she was taking Voldemort with her. His hands suddenly gripped her thighs, squeezing them hard. If she hadn’t been in the middle of an orgasm, she would probably have found it painful.  
  
“Hermione,” Voldemort gasped as they came down from their high. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but no words came out.  
  
Hermione smiled in satisfaction and sank down on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel him brush her hair away from his face. She closed her eyes and listened to his slowing heartbeat.

 

xxx

  
It had been worth it, Voldemort concluded the next morning.  
  
He was lying in bed, waiting for Hermione to wake up. She had fallen asleep right after their climax the night before. And sweet Salazar, what a climax. It was well worth it, risking her anger by sending a small pulse of magic inside of her when they had touched earlier that night. He had wanted to see what would happen when he did. The result had been more spectacular than he had dared to hope. Best of all, Hermione didn’t seem to realise a thing. At least not last night. He would have to be careful this morning, so she wouldn’t start to suspect anything now.  
  
He turned on his side and watched his Gryffindor kitten breathe slowly. The blanket lay between her legs, only covering her sex and parts of her abdomen. That needed changing.  
  
Voldemort carefully pulled the blanket down so he could see her fully naked. His hand came to rest on her swollen belly. There were no movements that he could detect from the foetus. Perhaps it was sleeping as peacefully as its mother?  
  
He regarded the belly. In just four months, the foetus would be a baby. He, Lord Voldemort, would be a father of two. He had never thought he would have children. They were a lot of work, and even though you did try your best to raise them, they would no doubt find ways to disappoint. Voldemort had known enough fathers in his days to know that at least. There always seemed to be a lot of complaining.  
  
Although Voldemort was certain that he would be a much better father with his children than those morons, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to treat them like he really wanted. Hermione would make sure of that. She was awfully humanistic in her views of how other living beings should be treated.  
  
Regardless, he already had plans for his progenies. In time, they would be of much use to him. With his and Hermione’s genes, they were bound to be both clever and beautiful. You could get far in the world with both qualities. He would make sure one of them started a career inside the Ministry so that he or she could become a real influence. The other one would become some form of researcher.  
  
“What are you thinking about?”   
  
Hermione’s question made him snap out of his thoughts, and he removed his hand from her stomach.  
  
“How much I adore this baby already,” he said with a smirk.  
  
She arched her eyebrows. “Oh? How come?”  
  
“Well, it must be the increased sex drive that the pregnancy is giving you, which made you suddenly decide to come back here and fuck my brains out, right?”   
  
He leaned down and kissed her naked belly, hoping she would take that as a valid excuse for her actions last night.  
  
Hermione snorted, but then, she frowned, suddenly watching him with suspicion in her eyes. “Because you didn’t have anything to do with that, right?”  
  
Voldemort managed to look at her in disbelief. “What could I possibly have done?”  
  
“Did you give me a lust potion?”  
  
He sat up, faking annoyance. “Since when do I need a lust potion for you to fuck me? In fact, I would start worrying about my health if anyone gave you a lust potion. You are horny enough as it is.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “Well, you only have yourself to blame if I don’t believe you all the time.”  
  
He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. She seemed to have dropped that thought for now, which was good. She would probably forget the whole incident soon enough. However, to be on the safe side, he changed the subject.   
  
“Do you want me to start breakfast? Perhaps something sweeter than porridge? Pancakes?”  
  
Hermione regarded him, shaking her head. “Pancakes? What’s the occasion?”   
  
He laughed and leaned over her, giving her a quick peck. “I had sex. Finally. One day without a release can really make your balls turn blue.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they were.”  
  
Voldemort leaned even closer to her. “Of course. But I think it would be good if you checked to see that they are really okay now.”  
  
She chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you would just love that.”  
  
Voldemort smirked, and his lips met hers. “Oh, I really think it would be for the best. Pretty please?”  
  
Hermione continued to chuckle into his mouth as they kissed, but her hand did wander down between them and found his cock, which was quickly hardening. She sneaked underneath it and slowly caressed his sacks. He purred into her mouth and started to caress her leg with his free hand.  
  
Just as he was getting hard enough to move inside her, she withdrew her hand and moved away from him. He opened his eyes and saw her watching him with a naughty grin.  
  
“I think it’s safe to say they are perfectly fine. Now, why don’t you go and make me those pancakes?”  
  
He arched an eyebrow and moved his hand in between her legs. One of his fingers could easily slip inside her wet cunt. “Now, is that really what you want?”  
  
She shuddered as he bent his finger inside her, stroking her sweet spot. When her eyes met his again, there was a wild hunger in them and he knew he had made his point. He removed his finger and pulled her towards him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. He lifted her up on his lap and trusted his cock inside her with ease.  
  
He let out a groan of pleasure as Hermione started to trail kisses down his cheek and throat. Together, they began to move faster against each other. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip over her hips, helping her bounce up and down. When she came, she bit down at his neck. The action increased his pleasure, causing him to come as well.  
  
Voldemort chuckled against her hair as he came down from his high. It seemed his little hellcat still had some frustration to take out on him. Oh, well, as long as they continued to have sex, he could deal with a bite mark.  
  
Hermione eased out of his arms and lay down in bed again, stretching. “What time is it?”  
  
Voldemort looked at the alarm clock on her night stand. “Just after seven. We still have three hours before the lecture begins.”  
  
“I should probably go and check out from the hotel,” she said with a sigh as she rose from the bed, looking a bit distant and tense all of a sudden.  
  
Voldemort watched her curiously. What had happened? He rose as well and placed his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around.  
  
“What’s the matter?” he asked, trying to read her expression. There was an air of defeat around her, and he had no idea why that was.  
  
She looked down at their bare feet. “When I realised I was pregnant with Althea and would have to keep her, I went to a Muggle doctor. She said that I should always listen to my body, that my body knew more about what I needed than my mind ever would.”  
  
He watched her without saying anything. This was important to her, he could see that.  
  
“She said that I should sleep if my body was tired, eat when I was hungry and … that I shouldn’t be afraid to seek out physical pleasure if I had the urge.” Hermione’s lips curved into a bitter smile, and she looked up at him. “I wonder what she would say if she knew all my body wanted was a sociopathic mass murderer.”  
  
He stroked the side of her face with his thumb. “I don’t think she would mind if she knew that you actually enjoy my company and that I will do everything to keep you safe and content … as long as you stay with me.”  
  
She made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “There is always a catch with you, Voldemort.”  
  
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “You want me, kitten. It’s not a catch when you like it. If you didn’t have to be with me, what would you do?”  
  
Hermione wrapped her arms around her body.  
  
“You are right,” she whispered.  
  
Voldemort embraced her and smiled against her hair. Victory.  
  



	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for betaing.

**Chapter 33**  
  
It was just after three o’clock when Hermione and Voldemort arrived at the small town in Scotland where the Alpertons lived. It was raining, so they hurried down the street, looking for number sixteen. The house was an ordinary, two storeys building with big, green hedges around it. They only had to wait a few seconds before the door opened, revealing a smiling Daniel.  
  
“Welcome! Come in, come in,” he ushered them inside.  
  
“Thank you,” Voldemort said politely.   
  
Hermione saw him use a drying spell over himself. She copied him.  
  
“What a lovely home,” Hermione complimented, exaggerating a little bit.   
  
She was surprised at how Muggle it looked, since Shannon hadn’t seemed too fond of Muggles at the restaurant. The only magical things were the many moving portraits, covering the walls in the hallway and the sitting room. Since Voldemort had told her Shannon had been practising the Dark Arts, Hermione wondered if it were a facade. Could Shannon also be hiding from the authorities?   
  
Once they were seated on the sofa, Hermione was again struck by how impersonal the room was. It was cosy with the knitted tablecloth and the plush cushions, but it didn’t really tell her anything about the people living there. Even the bookcase was boringly ordinary. Hermione could see several titles she recognised, both Wizarding as well as Muggle, but nothing stuck out. It almost felt a little … arranged. Did they really live here? Hermione glanced at Voldemort. He acted like nothing was amiss; thus, she decided not to ask. Voldemort was far more paranoid than she was. She would just make sure to be cautious.   
  
Shannon entered from the hallway, carrying a teapot. She welcomed them and poured them all a cup of tea. Hermione had just taken a bite of a biscuit when Shannon turned to Voldemort.  
  
“So, clearly you are not who you say you are.” There was no accusation behind the sentence, only curiosity.  
  
Hermione choked on her biscuit and coughed, while Voldemort only arched his eyebrows, taking a sip from his teacup.   
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
“I did a background check on both of you. Your papers claim that you are thirty-seven, while Hermione is twenty-four. That’s only a thirteen year difference between the two of you. A Shared Flame occurs when someone tries to harvest so much magic that the body can’t handle it, thus making part of the magic jump to the nearest potential magical being who has yet to develop their own magic. And you don’t harvest that much magic by mistake.” Shannon smiled. “I highly doubt a thirteen-year-old would have the knowledge or the skills to do any sort of spell that increases your magic.”  
  
Voldemort looked amused, but Hermione could see that his wandhand was tense. “What can I say? I was a very unusual thirteen-year-old.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Daniel said, chuckling. “Look son, we don’t intend to hand you over to the authorities or reveal you, whoever you may be. But we don’t want any trouble either.”  
  
Shannon nodded in agreement. “We’re assuming you are a semi-dark wizard hiding under an alias. Perhaps you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, or you did something illegal. Either way, we don’t want to know. However, I think you’ll forgive us for not trusting you. We are happy to tell you everything we know about what it means to have a Shared Flame, and I’m hoping you’ll tell us about your experiences with the bond. But we want a wand oath from both of you, as a guarantee that you won’t harm us.”  
  
Hermione did her best not to gape at them. How could they still want anything to do with them after having figured out that at least Voldemort was a dark wizard? Okay, Voldemort had told her Shannon had been a known dark witch back in the days, but still …   
  
“I have no plans of harming either one of you,” Voldemort said, leaning back in the couch with a shrug. “And I have no problem taking an oath that will prevent me from harming you, unless attacked. But then I want an oath from you that you will not spread any information about us to an outsider. In fact, don’t even mention that you know us.”  
  
Shannon nodded in agreement. She and Daniel went first, promising exactly what Voldemort had proposed, and then Voldemort and Hermione did the same. Hermione felt a bit weird about it. Did they really think that just because she was together with Voldemort she was inclined to harm them for no reason? Sure, she could see that it was merely a precaution from their side, but it was still bizarre. She had been raised with the notion to think the best of people, unless they did something suggesting the opposite. But the Alpertons had been nothing but friendly to her, and she wouldn’t even have considered asking them to take an oath. Yet, both they and Voldemort behaved like this was completely normal. She wasn’t be too surprised about Voldemort, though. He trusted no one. But why did others behave the same way? Perhaps it had something to do with spending too much time among people practicing Dark Arts.  
  
Hermione was suddenly certain that this house wasn’t their real house. If they thought there was a chance someone would come after them and hurt them, then surely they wouldn’t give that person their real address.  
  
She mentally sighed. Wasn’t it exhausting being so on your guard all the time?  
  
Keeping her questions to herself, she focused on the conversation at hand.  
  
“What have you discovered about your bond already?” Shannon asked, taking a biscuit.  
  
Voldemort sent a look to Hermione that told her he would do the talking. “It’s very enjoyable to touch each other, and we can see into each other’s mind without Legilimency.”  
  
Hermione could just barely resist rolling her eyes. That was basically what Bäcker’s book said. Clearly he didn’t want to tell these people more than he absolutely had to.  
  
Daniel nodded. “If you can see into each other’s mind, then you should also be able to speak to each other without words if you are touching.”  
  
“Really?” Hermione asked, very intrigued. “How?”  
  
“You aim your thoughts towards the other person, and he or she must be open to the connection. It takes a bit of practice, but it’s easy once you get the hang of it,” Shannon explained and took her husband’s hand to illustrate.  
  
Voldemort took Hermione’s hand, their fingers intertwining. Hermione tried to open her mind and listen to him. Suddenly she heard his voice, like he was whispering to her: “ _Testing, testing, Hermione could really use a spanking for being a naughty little_ …”  
  
“Oi!” Hermione smacked Voldemort’s hand.  
  
He smirked at her. The Alpertons were smiling as well, as if they could guess what Voldemort had just said. It made Hermione blush.  
  
“Now you try,” Voldemort said, grasping her hand again.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus. Maybe it was because she wasn’t an expert at Legilimency, but she wasn’t able to make him hear her at all.  
  
“Are you blocking me out?” Hermione asked, irritated.  
  
“Why would I? You aren’t trying to break it,” Voldemort answered.  
  
“Oh, you know Occlumency?” Shannon asked.  
  
Voldemort nodded.  
  
“That can sometimes interfere,” Shannon explained. “If you drop your Occlumency shield, you may be able to hear her, and then, you’ll feel the difference between mind-talking and an invasion of your mind. When you can distinguish between the two, you can exclude her from the Occlumency shield.”  
  
Voldemort nodded again. “We’ll try that when we get home then.”  
  
Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Of course Voldemort wouldn’t want to risk dropping his shields in front of strangers.  
  
“Is there something else you can do with the bond?” Voldemort asked. He hadn’t let go of Hermione’s hand. He was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, calming her down.  
  
“Not so fast,” Shannon said with a smile. “Before that, we are actually very curious to ask you about something.”  
  
Hermione didn’t feel like it was more than right that they had a chance to ask them things, so before Voldemort could object, she said, “Oh? Like what?”  
  
“You have another child, yes?”  
  
Hermione and Voldemort nodded.  
  
“Does she have magical powers?”  
  
“Yes, quite a bit, actually,” Voldemort answered, his tone almost bragging.  
  
“Really?” This seemed to surprise the other couple quite a bit. “Did you use some sort of fertility help?”  
  
“No. We hadn’t intended to get pregnant,” Voldemort said.  
  
Hermione held back a snort. That was the understatement of the year. However, it was also a lie. The fairies had helped them. Suddenly, Hermione got worried.  
  
Shannon exchanged a look with her husband. “You must have been new to the Dark Arts, Marcus.”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Voldemort asked, but Hermione could sense that he already knew the answer.  
  
“One of the first side-effects of meddling with the Dark Arts is infertility. That is why very few Shared Flame couples have children. We only know of two. In one case, the child turned out to be a Squib, another side-effect of the mother’s use of the Dark Arts. In the other, the parents hadn’t been practicing the Dark Arts. But that was a … surprisingly untalented couple. The wizard who had created the bond had tried the ritual to gain more magical power, not knowing what it really was he was doing. But they were happy together.”  
  
“Were?” Hermione asked, suspicious.  
  
“They died in the war,” Daniel said, shaking his head in sorrow. “She was a Muggle-born, and as such, she was sent to Azkaban during the Dark Lord’s regime. Didn’t last more than a month. He followed her, as they usually do.”  
  
“Usually do?” Voldemort asked with a frown.  
  
“Ah yes, that’s another effect of the bond, I suppose,” Shannon answered. “If one of the couple dies, the other follows within a few months. We aren’t sure why. Part of it is grief, of course, but it also seems like there is something else to it. Maybe it’s the bond, not letting go even in death, infecting the living part. They wither away.”  
  
Voldemort’s grip was hard around her hand, and Hermione knew he was scared even though he didn’t show it. She felt both worried and a little relieved by it. On one hand, if she died (hopefully of old age), he wouldn’t have the chance to become a Dark Lord again. On the other hand, if Voldemort were killed (which wasn’t all that unlikely if Harry ever managed to find a way around the spell), she would follow, leaving both their children orphaned. That scared her.  
  
Voldemort seemed to overcome his fear faster than her, because he continued his questioning.  
  
“What happened to their children after they died?”  
  
“They were both past their twenties when it happened. The girl moved to Brazil, and the boy is working at the Ministry last I heard. Both are much more talented than their parents,” Daniel said in a much happier tone.   
  
That made Hermione think of Althea. She was a very powerful witch, and Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if Althea turned out to be more powerful than her or Voldemort. How was that possible? Voldemort must have meddled just as much with the Dark Arts as Shannon, and evidently, she didn’t have any children. Was it only because of the fairies they could have children? Or had it something to do with his new body? Did this also have something to do with why the fairies had chosen Althea as their vessel? Because she was evidently a powerful witch already. How could that be, though? Shouldn’t Althea have been a Squib, just like the child of the more powerful couple? The fairies must have had something to do with it. Hermione could see the fairies wanting to have access to that kind of power—for what reason she didn’t know. However, she had spent enough time with Voldemort to realise that power mattered.  
  
They talked for a while longer after that, but Hermione couldn’t take her mind of what could be happening to Althea and she hardly heard what was being said. When they finally Apparated back home, Hermione couldn’t keep the question to herself any longer.  
  
“Do you think Althea will be more powerful than us?” she asked, looking up at Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort sighed. “Considering how powerful she is already, I think there is a chance she will be. It would explain why the fairies are so interested in her.”  
  
“I thought so, too. But to what end? What do they need the power for?”  
  
Voldemort shrugged. “If they can use Althea’s magic, without having her acceptance, then I guess they can do a lot of things with the magic. Last we saw Morgana, she practically told us they wanted to walk this earth again. But they could also want revenge for their imprisonment, enslave wizards or destroy the world. Or maybe they want to use Althea’s powers to redecorate. Maybe a little of everything from the above. Fairies are tricky beings.”  
  
“Then, how will we be able to stop them? I don’t want them using my daughter!” Hermione exclaimed, starting to pace.   
  
She wanted to go and get Althea immediately, but the nanny had taken Althea to the theatre. There was a play for children her age being performed now. It wouldn’t be finished for another half an hour, and Hermione didn’t want to cause a scene by interrupting it, just to get her daughter.  
  
“I don’t want them using our daughter either,” Voldemort said, leaning against the window sill. “We have already stopped them for contacting her here. That keeps them from strengthening their bond with her. We will find a way to break their bond completely in due time. But we have years to do that. Althea won’t reach full strength until she is out of Hogwarts, and I highly doubt they will try to use her before she is of age. As long as she is underage, the Ministry can find her if she, or someone else, is using her magic outside of our house or Hogwarts. The fairies can’t get to her here nor at Hogwarts. The protection is too great.”  
  
Hermione stopped and took a deep breath. Yes, he was right. As long as Althea was with them or at Hogwarts, she would have protection of some sort.   
  
“We should tell her about the fairies, though. So she can be on guard.”  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “I’m not sure that is such a wise idea. If she wants to rebel against us, she may try to contact them if she is aware of them.”  
  
“Why would she rebel against us?”  
  
“Children do that,” Voldemort replied. “I’m not willing to take that risk.”  
  
“We can’t just lie to her!”  
  
“We aren’t lying, we are protecting her. Besides, I didn’t say we can never tell her. If we haven’t found a way to break the bond when she turns seventeen, then we should definitely tell her. However, if we manage to break the bond—and I think we will—then there is no reason to worry her about it.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t really argue with his reasoning. However, she thought Althea would be old enough to know the truth at a much younger age than seventeen. Perhaps when she began school? But hopefully, they had managed to break the bond long before then.  
  
She sank on the couch.  
  
“For now, we have a more pressing problem,” Voldemort said and came over to her, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her.  
  
Hermione looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You are pregnant,” he said slowly.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. “Really, Voldemort, are you catching up on that just now?”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, Shannon is right. Using the Dark Arts makes you infertile. I can understand why we had Althea; I had got a whole new body and thus hadn’t used any Dark Arts with it. But over the past five years, I have. Not as much as I had with my old body, but I have used the Dark Arts to change my body to the better.”  
  
Hermione wanted to say that she highly doubted that the Dark Arts could improve anything, but then, his meaning came across. “So … why am I pregnant?”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “Exactly. I can think of two reasons, both having to do with the fairies. Either, they made me super-fertile when they created this body for me, making sure I would get you pregnant, or that diamond I placed on your stomach had a more permanent effect than we thought. Or maybe it’s a bit of both.”  
  
“But I though you saw that there was no fairy magic left inside me,” Hermione objected.  
  
“There isn’t, but they could still have made your womb a very friendly place. It’s not unnatural, just unusual.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “Then, what’s the problem? We have already decided to keep this child.”  
  
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that we may have a problem in the future. I do think two children is more than enough; however, I’m not sure if an ordinary contraceptive will do the trick for us.”  
  
“They did last year, before I stopped taking it.”  
  
“I know. But what if you forget to take it, just for a day? Or what if you get food poisoning again? How can we be sure an ordinary contraceptive potion is effective then?”  
  
“So what do you suggest?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Nothing drastic, just another, more effective contraceptive potion. It lasts for thirteen moon-cycles because of an active magical component. It’s tricky to make, but as you know, I can do everything.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. I don’t see that as a problem, really. I think two children is enough as well. Or is there some sort of horrible side-effect to it?”  
  
“Not usually. However, because of our Shared Flame, you could become even hornier because you have a bit of my magic active inside of you.”  
  
She snorted. “I’m sure you are looking forward to _that_.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ll complain,” he said with a grin.

 

xxx

  
A week later, Voldemort was doing what he liked the most: fucking Hermione.  
  
“I wish there was a way I could stay in here forever,” he mumbled against her ear as he slowly thrusted into her from behind. They were both lying on their side, with him spooning her.  
  
“Less talk, more fucking,” Hermione answered, wriggling against him to make him move faster.  
  
“I was complimenting you,” he objected. “I thought women liked compliments during sex.”  
  
“Women don’t come in just one copy, Voldemort,” she growled. “Fuck me harder and stop talking.”  
  
“This is hardly a position to fuck you hard in,” he replied and nibbled her neck teasingly.  
  
“Then move! I need something hard to send me over the edge.”  
  
Sighing but not minding at all, he complied by moving them both so she was standing on her knees with him behind her. He grabbed her thighs and pushed her legs apart so he could stand between them, thrusting inside her again. Hermione moaned and started to thrust back against him. He gripped her hips tightly and stilled her.  
  
“I thought you wanted _me_ to fuck you hard,” he taunted, staying perfectly still inside her.  
  
“Well, you seemed unable to do the work prop—” He cut her off by withdrawing his cock almost all the way out and then slamming back inside her, and she hissed in pleasure as her climax overtook her.  
  
He was just about to come as well when someone knocked on the front door. Voldemort ignored it and continued to pound inside his fiancée as hard as he could.  
  
“What if Mrs Cooper and Althea are back early?” Hermione objected. However, she didn’t try to move away.  
  
“Ten. More. Seconds.” He groaned and pushed inside her three more times before climaxing.  
  
When he had fallen down on the bed again, Hermione wriggled out from underneath him and wrapped a dressing gown around her body before walking out of the bedroom. Voldemort stayed put, convinced it was someone trying to sell something. He doubted it was Althea. He had given Mrs Cooper enough money so that they could spend a whole day at the zoo. Hermione had been extra horny today, and Voldemort wanted to encourage that.  
  
“Harry? What are you doing here?”   
  
Hermione’s question made Voldemort sit up in the bed abruptly.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you. Is he here?”   
  
That was indeed Harry Potter’s voice.  
  
Voldemort rose, curious to find out what Potter wanted. Neither him nor Hermione had seen the Potters since the wedding. Hermione had been in contact with Molly Weasley, making sure they were alright, but other than that, not a word. Voldemort was surprised it had taken Harry so long to gather the courage to come and visit. They still had things to settle, after all.  
  
He wrapped his own dressing gown around him, wanting Potter to know what he had just interrupted. It would be more fun that way.  
  
When he reached the hallway, Potter did indeed look very uncomfortable but determined, too.   
  
“We need to talk,” the younger man said.  
  
“Oh, are you breaking up with us?” Voldemort asked, making a dramatic gesture of being worried as he walked up to them.  
  
Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
“Please, come in,” Hermione said to Harry, dragging Voldemort back to the living room. She was looking equally uncomfortable.  
  
Potter followed them and sat down on an armchair while Hermione pulled Voldemort down on the couch next to her. Voldemort knew she did it because she wanted to be able to stop him physically if he tried to hurt Potter. What she hadn’t realised was the impression this gesture gave Potter. It looked like Hermione was on Voldemort’s side. Voldemort happily reinforced the impression by grasping Hermione’s hand.  
  
“So,” Voldemort said after they had all been silent for almost a minute, “how is Ginevra?”  
  
“Not well,” Potter said stiffly. “She is convinced you will show up at any moment to kill us all.”  
  
Hermione squeezed Voldemort’s hand, hard.  
  
“He won’t,” she said forcefully. “He promised me he wouldn’t kill any of you.”  
  
Potter looked at her in a mixture of pain, anger and amusement. “And you believe him?”  
  
“I got him to stop killing Muggles,” Hermione said. “No more bodies have shown up, right?”  
  
“That doesn’t mean anything. He could just have hidden them better,” Potter commented.  
  
Hermione glanced at Voldemort, looking for reassurance.   
  
Voldemort sighed. He didn’t want Potter to know too much about his and Hermione’s relationship. However, he was quite sure he would have to use force if he were to stop Hermione from talking. That would make Potter think that Hermione wasn’t on Voldemort’s side after all. That would make the boy try to “save” Hermione, and that would lead to quite the scene. No, it was better to make Potter think that Voldemort and Hermione were a united force.  
  
“I haven’t killed any more Muggles,” Voldemort finally reassured. “Hermione and I have an agreement, which I’m more than happy to honour.”  
  
Potter stared at Voldemort in disbelief for several seconds. Then he looked back at Hermione, shaking his head.   
  
“Only you would be stubborn enough to convince Lord Voldemort to strike a bargain like that. What I can’t understand is what made you two … get together?”  
  
Voldemort understood why Potter asked the question. He wanted Hermione to be the victim here. Well, Voldemort wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. However, before he had time to answer, Hermione beat him to it.  
  
“For the first few months, I thought he was just Marcus Foster, the man I had slept with the night after the battle at Hogwarts. I wanted Althea to get to know her father, so we started to spend time together. Next thing I knew, we were involved. Then I found out who he really was.”  
  
“And you still decided to stay?” Potter asked. There was no accusation behind his question, just confusion and a bit of pity.  
  
Hermione snorted. “No. Voldemort made sure I stayed.”  
  
“Now, now, Hermione,” Voldemort said softly. “I do think you are making this a little too black and white. I did give you a choice.”  
  
“I believe the choice was either to stay, or you would kill me,” Hermione bit back.  
  
“I didn’t force you to enjoy your stay.”  
  
“You tortured me! I sure as hell didn’t enjoy that!” she exclaimed.  
  
“Not at first, no, but then I recall you ripping my clothes off and fucking me.”  
  
“I’m sure I _don't_ want to hear that,” Potter interjected before Hermione had a chance to retort.  
  
Voldemort smirked at Hermione who was blushing profusely.  
  
“No, that isn’t important. Let’s just say we had our ups and downs for a little while, which culminated in Hermione trying to kill me.”  
  
“What?” Potter asked, looking surprised.  
  
“Can you blame me?” Hermione asked, addressing both of them.  
  
“No,” Potter answered. “But I still don’t get why you decided to stay. I mean, obviously you did.”  
  
“She got kidnapped right after her attempt,” Voldemort said. “You could say that it brought us much closer together.”  
  
He put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she rolled her eyes.  
  
“That was when we made the deal,” Hermione continued. “I stay with him, and in return, he doesn’t kill any more Muggles.”  
  
“I also help provide for our family,” Voldemort filled in helpfully. “You Gryffindors always do so much for your families, don’t you, Harry?”  
  
The murderous glint in Potter’s eyes returned. If it weren’t for the spell, Voldemort was sure the boy would have attacked him by now.  
  
“What will it take for you to release Ginny from the curse?” Harry asked.  
  
“It will disappear by itself when you are dead,” Voldemort replied calmly. “I can’t trust you, Harry Potter. Surely, you don’t blame me for that.”  
  
Potter had such a hard grip of the arms of the chair that his knuckles turned white. Hermione gently pulled Voldemort’s arm off her and stood up. She tied the knot of her dressing gown tighter and walked over to her friend, crouching at the side of the armchair.  
  
“Harry,” she said softly, putting her hand on his. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in this.”  
  
Potter took a deep breath before turning to Hermione. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”   
  
He sounded mystified.  
  
“Another spell. Not the same type he has on you, just something that makes sure I can’t say anything that reveals him, even by accident,” Hermione explained with a sigh.  
  
Potter gripped her hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through this alone. If only I’d figure it out sooner—”  
  
“Yes, yes, you’d come riding on your broomstick, swept Hermione away and used your spectacular _Expelliarmus_ to save the day,” Voldemort said dryly, cutting Potter off. Their drama was giving him a headache.  
  
Potter and Hermione both glared at him. Voldemort rolled his eyes and stood up.  
  
“You were friends with Hermione for seven years at Hogwarts, Harry. Did she ever really strike you as the kind of girl who needs saving?” He took her hand from Potter’s and pulled her up. “If she really had wanted to kill me, she would have succeeded. She did manage to off Lucius after all, even after he had taken her wand.”  
  
He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “Hermione is one of the most resourceful women I’ve ever met. She is brilliant, brave and headstrong. If she didn’t want to be here, Potter, do you really think you would have found us having sex in the middle of the afternoon?”   
  
Hermione was blushing, but she still managed to glare at him while saying, “You know as well as I do that if things were different, I wouldn’t have chosen you.”  
  
“Oh, no, you would of course have chosen one of the thousand boys you were with the four years you were in Australia. Oh, no, wait, you didn’t have a single date before we got together.”  
  
“I was waiting for the right one!”  
  
“Yes, me!”  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together. “No. I was focusing on my career. I didn’t want to get stuck in Australia, and it was just as well that I didn’t, because I got the scholarship to Oxford. If you hadn’t been here, I would still have it, and then, I would have got my doctorate. Then, I could have focused on finding someone.”  
  
“Like who?” Voldemort asked sceptically. It wasn’t like anyone could ever come close to competing with him.  
  
“Some other professor or doctor, someone who is interested in the same things as me. I didn’t want someone whom I couldn’t talk to about my own research.”  
  
He crossed his arms. “It almost sounds like you have someone in mind. Should I be worried about this mysterious doctor ... who?”  
  
Silence fell. Hermione and Voldemort glared at each other. He didn’t think that Hermione actually had someone in mind, but he wanted to make it clear to Potter as well.  
  
“Well?” Voldemort finally asked when Hermione didn’t answer.  
  
“I don’t have anyone in mind!” Hermione exclaimed. “That was what I was thinking when I was still in Australia. I know it won’t happen now.”  
  
“So, I don’t count as being a professor or a researcher that you can talk to about your work?” Voldemort asked, annoyed.  
  
“Well, yes, but I hadn’t pictured him being a mass murderer on the side,” Hermione muttered.  
  
Voldemort snorted.   
  
Right them, Potter finally rose as well.  
  
“Er …” Potter trailed off, looking like he had forgotten how to pronounce words. “Hermione may be able to deal with this, but I’m not sure how I’ll be able to.”  
  
“Find a way,” Voldemort commented dryly. He had hoped Potter would be so uncomfortable that he would just leave.  
  
“But how? How can I just sit by when I know you are here, doing Merlin knows what,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “It doesn’t matter that you supposedly aren’t killing Muggles anymore. I don’t for one second believe that you are just playing house with Hermione all day long.”  
  
Hermione placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Let me worry about him. The spell doesn’t stop you from being with Ginny and doing your job. Think positive, at least now you know where he is and that he has someone guarding him.”  
  
Voldemort let out a bark of laughter.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Fine, keeping him in a good mood then. He can’t dominate the world when we are … you know, ‘busy’.” She withdrew her hand, looking quite uncomfortable again.  
  
“But what about you?” Harry asked, looking up at Hermione, worry shining through his eyes. “Who will make sure you are safe?”  
  
“Well, he hasn’t killed me yet, has he?” Hermione remarked. “And you heard what he said; he thinks I’m brilliant and all that. Besides, I can take care of myself. I give back as good as I get.”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. Now they were getting all fluffy again. However, since it looked like Hermione was actually managing to convince Potter to go and stay away, Voldemort let them be.  
  
“He is Lord Voldemort, Hermione,” Potter said in a low voice. “All he does is bring destruction and pain.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “I know what he has done, Harry, and sometimes, I hate him. But … he helped me create Althea and this one, and … I have never experienced such love as the love I have for my children. You’ll understand soon enough.”  
  
Potter glanced over at Voldemort, then back at Hermione. “Do you love him?”  
  
Hermione snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“I’m not. Listen, you are the cleverest person I know, but Voldemort can manipulate anyone to do anything. And he can work on you every day. Doesn’t that worry you?”  
  
Voldemort could see Hermione tense slightly before she answered.   
  
“It doesn’t matter, Harry. I can only make the best of the situation, and so should you. Go home to Ginny. She is carrying your baby; the least you can do is make it as easy for her as possible. Give her a foot rub. You can both live a happy life, and all you have to do is pretend that Voldemort is Marcus when you see him. I’ll make sure you don’t have to see him more than necessary.”  
  
Voldemort could see Potter cave, even though the worry never left the insipid boy.   
  
Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione and hugged her tightly. “If you need to get away from him, come to me. Hiding you isn’t hurting him.”  
  
“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione said softly.  
  
Voldemort frowned. Why wasn’t Hermione saying that she wouldn’t be in need of any hiding? Surely, she didn’t plan to leave him and go into hiding? He thought he had made amends for what had happened last week.  
  
However, since he didn’t want to give Potter a reason to stay, he waited until Hermione had said her goodbyes and closed the door behind Potter before asking: “Are you planning to leave?”  
  
“Of course not,” Hermione said with a sigh. “And if I did, I wouldn’t take Harry up on his offer. I know he would be the first person you’d interrogate if I went missing.”  
  
Well, she was right about that. Still, it didn’t hurt to remind her why she shouldn’t be leaving. With sex. He took her hand again and pulled her closer to him. However, when he leaned down to kiss her, she averted his lips.   
  
“He is right about you though,” Hermione said.  
  
Voldemort sighed in frustration. “Right about what?”  
  
She brought her hand up to his chest. His dressing gown was gaping, and she trailed her fingers through the hairs of his chest. “You are constantly manipulating me.”  
  
He would be insulting her intelligence if he tried to deny it. “So?”  
  
Hermione smiled bitterly. “This is probably the most fucked-up relationship of all time.”  
  
“I find myself repeating myself: _So?_ ”  
  
Hermione sighed. Then, she allowed him to kiss her.

 

xxx

  
It was the middle of the night when Harry woke up, feeling like something was there in his bedroom with him. For a second, he thought that Ginny had come home early from her trip with her Quidditch team—after their latest victory, the team had decided to take a spa-weekend to congratulate themselves. But no warm body was lying next to him. He found the light switch and put his glasses on.  
  
“Hello, Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry grabbed his wand and aimed it at the strange woman who was standing in the corner of the room, right next to the window. She was a tall, beautiful woman with thick, black hair and a pale skin tone. It was so pale that it actually looked a little transparent.   
  
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked.   
  
Since the woman hadn’t attacked him and seemed to be unarmed, Harry didn’t want to just cast a spell on her. Unlike some of his colleagues, he wasn’t the type to curse first and ask questions later.  
  
“My name is Morgana, and I’m here because we have a common enemy.”   
  
The woman walked closer to the bed. Harry’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t right. She didn’t walk; she floated. As she came closer, he also noticed that she was indeed a bit transparent.  
  
“And _what_ are you?” he wondered. “A ghost?”  
  
She shook her head with her lip quirking. “I’m of the old fairies. We have lived her for a very, very long time, but we seldom interact with humans. Now, however, our very existence is at risk. All because of Tom Riddle.”  
  
Voldemort.   
  
Harry could feel his insides clench. His talk with Voldemort and Hermione hadn’t made things better. Who knew what Voldemort was planning? And Harry could do nothing to stop it! If he did, his wife and unborn child would die. Then again, Hermione was in danger all the time. How could he just let Voldemort get away with whatever it was he was doing to Hermione? Despite her reassurances, Harry couldn’t believe that Hermione was happy with Voldemort. Maybe she had settled for him and was making the best of the situation, but Harry was still worried.  
  
He also felt guilty for not noticing that anything was wrong. There had been so much else going on in his life, with his own marriage and career, that he hadn’t taken into account that they had drifted apart during the past four years.  
  
That was not an excuse though. He had as good as abandoned her when she had left for Australia. He should have supported her when she had found out she was pregnant. He was sure that if he had, Voldemort would never have got so close to her without anyone realising it. And now, there was another person whom Voldemort was hurting.  
  
“What has Voldemort done to you?” Harry asked.  
  
“He has stolen what is ours,” Morgana said with a pained expression. “He has captured one of our children and keeps her hidden from everyone. We want your help, Harry Potter, in getting her back.”  
  
Harry felt hope rising in his chest. He so wanted to get back at Voldemort, for everything. If the fairies had some plan, he could make things right again. Make sure Hermione got away from him and didn’t have to fear him anymore. He would save Ginny.   
  
“What can I do?”  
  
“We can undo Tom Riddle’s curse on your wife. It will take time. Years. But we can do it. When we have done it, you’ll tell your people where he is hiding and take him prisoner. That way, Tom Riddle will have to leave our child and we can bring her home again. Can you do that, Harry Potter?”  
  
“If you know a way to break the curse, why not do it now?”   
  
Morgana saddened. “It’s not possible yet. Our magic works in a different way than yours. Much power is needed to break this spell. In seven years, then we will be able to do it.”  
  
Seven years?   
  
Harry felt his hope falter. Could he really let Hermione suffer for seven years? Then again, what choice did he have? He didn’t know how to break the Occulta Mors Curse. He could research, but that would take time as well since he had to do it alone. He had never been very good at the whole researching thing. However, if he agreed to this, it didn’t stop him from finding his own way to break the spell. If it were possible, as this fairy said, then perhaps he could find a quicker way? If he didn’t, then seven years was better than forever.  
  
“How will I know when the time is right?” Harry asked.  
  
“We’ll keep in contact with you, Harry Potter. Thank you.” Morgana faded away with a soft sigh.

 

**End part one**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hope I'm not freaking anyone out thinking this is the end and you have to wait months for the next story to be posted. You won't. Next chapter will come as fast (or slow) as every other chapter, and will be posted in this story, as always. I've just decided to give the story this structure. The next chapter will be an intermezzo. Chapter 35 will be the beginning of part two and takes place seven years into the future.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The intermezzo is up! This is the in-between part. Part two (which takes place seven years into the future) will begin with the next chapter. This takes place four months after when we last saw the jolly couple.
> 
> There is music mentioned in this chapter, by a Swede named Larsson. If anyone of you are interested to hear it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZD7FOWy61c
> 
> When it comes to the end scene of this chapter, Nerys has helped me write the fluffy parts. Or actually, I've looked as she added tons of tons of fluff. So she deserves all the credit (blame?) for that! Couldn't have done it without her! And as usual, I'd like to thank both Nerys and Shan84 for betaing. And I also would like to thank the rest of the merry GC-gang for coming with ideas and suggestions for this chapter. Thank you all a lot!

**INTERMEZZO**  
  
 **Chapter 34**  
  
It was a warm morning in the middle of August when Voldemort woke feeling like someone had stabbed him in the stomach. Disoriented, he sat up and looked around, wand already in hand, ready to hex whoever made him feel this excruciating pain.  
  
No one was in the room, except him and Hermione. Just like that, the pain disappeared. Voldemort frowned, his hand wandering down to his stomach. There was nothing indicating that something was amiss.  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” he heard a mutter next to him.  
  
He turned around and saw Hermione pressing a hand against her enormous belly, her face in a grimace.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he was already guessing the answer.  
  
“A contraction,” she said, taking a deep breath. “A bit more forceful than the ones I’ve had lately—it’s probably nothing.”  
  
“Or it is. Your due date is in just two days, after all,” Voldemort commented, yawning as he allowed himself time to wake up. If Hermione were about to have the baby, he’d better call the Healer at once.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Or it isn’t. Come on, let’s just go back to sleep. You heard what the Healer said the last time she was here. I need lots of rest before the delivery.”  
  
She did look tired. Voldemort sighed and lay down in the bed again. He could probably use the rest, too. The past few months had been very trying for his patience. Hermione’s constant mood swings were enough to make any man annoyed. For him, they were slow torture. He would be very happy once the child was out of her and she could go back to being her normal self.  
  
He was just about to fall asleep when it happened again. This time, he actually groaned. “What the hell?”  
  
Hermione was also groaning. “I had forgotten how painful the contractions are.”  
  
Voldemort grew cold as he suddenly remembered something that had happened almost eight months ago. Hermione had wanted him to see that it was much harder creating life than taking it. She had cast a spell on him, but when nothing happened, he had just figured the spell hadn’t worked. But what if it had? This was not good.  
  
“Help me up. I think I need to pee,” Hermione said, breaking his line of thoughts.  
  
Voldemort did. She had gained about twenty pounds during her pregnancy and was much harder to manoeuvre. It made sex a bit more difficult than he would have liked, especially since she was usually tired as well.  
  
Once he had managed to get Hermione off the bed, she waddled her way over to the bathroom and disappeared inside. Voldemort sank down on the bed again and glanced at the clock. It was only five in the morning. It was a good thing the summer holidays had begun and that Althea was visiting her grandparents. He could sleep in.  
  
Strangely enough, he almost missed his daughter running in every morning, wanting breakfast. She was such an amusing little thing. However, with Hermione’s upcoming delivery (which would take place at their flat), they had decided that Althea could visit her grandparents for a while, so she wouldn’t get scared when Hermione went into labour. That, and Althea had expressed wishes of going to her grandparents. After he had made Althea’s room at the Granger’s fairy-proof, there had been no problems to leave Althea there.  
  
Voldemort groaned when, once again, he felt his entire stomach burn with pain. Somehow, he was definitely feeling Hermione’s contraction. With a growl, he rose from the bed and stalked into the bathroom.  
  
Hermione was sitting on the toilet with her hands pressed against her stomach. “I think my water broke.”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll call the Healer. But first I need you to remove the spell you have cast over me.”  
  
Hermione started at him in disbelief. “What spell?”  
  
“The one that has me feeling your contractions.”  
  
Hermione blinked, looking confused. “I didn’t … oh.” Apparently she also remembered what had happened eight months ago.  
  
“Oh, indeed. Remove it now.”  
  
She became angry. “I don’t know how I did it, so I can’t just remove it!”  
  
“Try,” he ordered, his voice hard.  
  
“Voldemort! I’m going into labour. Just call the Healer.”  
  
He crossed his arms. “Try first.”  
  
Slowly, Hermione rose from the toilet. “I can’t waste time and energy on that! I’m going to push a small person out of my vagina soon. Who cares if you feel it? I’m the one who is going to do all the work. Call the fucking Healer!”  
  
Voldemort tightened his grip of his wand. Something Hermione spotted.  
  
“Oh, so now you are going to torture me? Is that your answer to everything? Just because you are unhappy, others need to suffer. You know what, Voldemort, grow up. Life is unfair, deal with it.” She marched past him and went into the living room.  
  
He didn’t know what to say. Hermione had never been this unreasonable before. And he would not curse her and risk both hers and the baby’s life. He would have to come up with a punishment afterwards …  
  
“Fucking hell!” he growled when another contraction made him bend over in pain. From inside the living room, he heard Hermione groan as well.  
  
Right, first, he would make sure the labour went by smoothly and then he would focus on how to best punish his fiancée. With a quick spell, he was dressed and went to the living room.  
  
“Put on your dressing gown so you won’t get cold,” he grunted to Hermione. “I’ll call her.”  
  
Hermione’s anger vanished, and she obeyed him without question. Fifteen minutes and three contractions later, the Healer Apparated inside with a bag. She was an elderly witch named Nathalie Reyes who had retired from St. Mungo’s but helped in home deliveries if the price were right.  
  
“Into bed with you, and let see how far dilated you are,” the Healer ordered Hermione briskly, only giving Voldemort a nod in greeting.  
  
Hermione did as she was told, and Voldemort stood behind the Healer as she started to examine Hermione’s sex. It was always fun to see Hermione’s sex, although right now, it didn’t look exactly as he remembered.  
  
“You are already six centimetres dilated. The contractions will start to come closer together and get worse. I suggest you try to be up and walk around as long as you are able to. Perhaps eat something as well,” the Healer said.  
  
The next hour was slow torture for Voldemort. Hermione didn’t seem to be in half the amount of pain that he was in, even though they experienced the same pain.   
  
The Healer took one look at him and said, “Sympathy pain. How sweet.”  
  
When the contractions started to come every two minutes, Reyes allowed Hermione to go back to the bed. Voldemort forced himself to move as well. The pain was more than anything he had ever felt before. Even though it was a long time since he was Cruciated (by anyone other than Hermione, but that hardly counted), he didn’t remember it being as bad as this. For a start, the pain lasted much longer.  
  
“Ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing, you’re fully dilated,” the Healer commented.  
  
Hermione grabbed Voldemort’s hand and pulled him down on the bed next to her. “You put me into this mess,” she growled.  
  
Voldemort’s jaws were too tightly pressed together, stopping himself from screaming a reply. How could women do this? And more than once as well! The pain was unbearable, he couldn’t think straight. When would it be over? Please, let it be over!  
  
“When the next contraction comes, it’s time to start,” Reyes said from between Hermione’s legs. “Try to focus on the pushing. The harder you try, the sooner this will be over.”  
  
Hermione nodded, and Voldemort could feel that she was bracing herself, focusing on her body. Her hand held his in a tight grip. Voldemort closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be easier if he didn’t see it happen?  
  
Then, the pain took over again. It was worse than before, perhaps because Hermione was pushing. There was a storm in his head, deafening him to Hermione’s cries. Maybe he was crying as well, he didn’t know. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe …  
  
Then, darkness. Blissful darkness welcomed him with open arms and he didn’t feel anything at all anymore.

 

xxx

  
Hermione had forgotten how hard it was to go through labour. But when she heard the cries of life from her new born baby, she began crying in happiness.  
  
She let go of Voldemort’s hand and stretched her arms towards the Healer who was rapidly casting spells, making sure everything was all right with the baby. There was worry in Hermione’s chest that something would be amiss. Thankfully the Healer looked up with a smile after just a few minutes.  
  
“Perfect health. Ten fingers and ten toes,” Reyes said, handing her the child that she’d wrapped in a towel. “Here is your daughter.”  
  
Hermione looked at the small girl in wonder. “A girl?” For some reason, she had always called the baby “he”, it had just felt right. But she was happy with this as well. Another girl. A little sister for Althea. Hermione felt tears of joy in her eyes as she pressed the whining child against her chest.  
  
“Look at what—” Hermione turned to Voldemort and stopped when she saw that he was unconscious. She frowned and looked at the Healer. “What happened to him?”  
  
The Healer was already running a diagnostic spell over him. “Men pass out during the delivery all the time. And look, there is nothing wrong with him.” The Healer shook her head. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be up in no time.”  
  
Hermione grimaced. Voldemort would be furious when he woke up. Oh well, hopefully he had learned an important lesson. It was much harder to give birth than to kill someone. She took a deep breath. Her whole body felt sore. She could drift away to sleep at any moment, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stop looking at the child at her chest. It was so different from what she had felt the first time with Althea. Back then, she had felt so much angst, not knowing how to be a mother, not knowing how she would handle her future with a child, not knowing why she had got pregnant in the first place. Now, it was only joy. She vowed to herself that she would do it right this time. Of course, she would still take care of Althea and make sure she was happy as well. But she would do it right. She could do this.  
  
“The seventeenth of August, 2003 at eight fifty,” the Healer wrote out loud. “Healthy baby girl … Do you have a name for her yet?”  
  
Hermione shook her head. They had decided to wait until the baby was born to name it. She had a few ideas, but she wanted to discuss it with Voldemort first. “Just baby Granger-Foster.”  
  
The Healer nodded and wrote it down in her chart. Right then, the girl began screaming loudly. Hermione felt a sting of panic run through her and began to rock the girl back and forth, hushing her.  
  
Next to her, Voldemort let out a groan and sat up, slowly. She glanced at him and could see that he was angry, but it disappeared into a look of surprise when he saw her and the baby.  
  
“Is that …?” He poked the little girl with a finger.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is our second daughter.”  
  
“Why is she crying?” he asked, looking very protective.  
  
“That’s what babies do,” the Healer commented. “She will calm down.”  
  
“She is so … wrinkly,” Voldemort said slowly, brushing his fingers through the dark tuft of hair. “Is she healthy?”  
  
“She is in perfect health,” The Healer reassured him.  
  
“Good,” Voldemort said, not taking his eyes of the girl.  
  
Hermione observed him. He was acting rather strange. The intensity in the way he looked at the child was almost frightening, but at the same time, strangely reassuring. She had learned to read Voldemort well enough by now that she knew he wasn’t about to hurt the baby. Instead, he looked at her the same way he looked at Hermione sometimes: obsessive.  
  
“Do you want to hold her?” Hermione asked, still rocking the baby slowly.  
  
Voldemort just nodded and gently took the baby into his arms. Hermione’s heart tightened when she saw that the little girl stopped crying and opened her eyes for the first time. Voldemort actually smiled.  
  
“Hello there, little one,” he mumbled, using his thumb to stoke the baby’s cheek.  
  
Hermione began sobbing.  
  
“What’s wrong?” She heard Voldemort asking.  
  
A hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing. “She has just gone through something physically and mentally draining. Tears are to be expected from everyone. She will need a lot of support the next couple of weeks while her body returns to normal. It’s best not to upset her.”  
  
Hermione smiled through the tears. Voldemort not upsetting her? That would be fun to see.

 

xxx

  
“Why is she sucking your breast, Mum?” Althea asked. She was sitting next to Hermione on the couch, watching her little sister getting her milk. It was two days after the delivery, and Althea was curious about everything the little girl did.  
  
“It is how she gets her food,” Hermione explained. “Since she doesn’t have any teeth yet, she can’t eat normal food like us. Instead, she drinks the milk from my breasts.”  
  
“How come there is milk in there?” Althea asked curiously.  
  
“When I gave birth to your sister, my breasts started to make it to give her food. It’s the natural way of things.” Hermione didn’t mention that she hadn’t been able to breastfeed Althea. It didn’t matter now. Althea had turned out nicely, and she didn’t want any sibling rivalry to begin.   
  
“Is it any good?”  
  
“Your sister seems to like it, so I hope so.” Hermione hadn’t tasted it herself.  
  
“Can I taste?”  
  
Hermione chuckled. “Maybe another time, Althea.”  
  
Voldemort, who had been sitting quietly in the armchair, chuckled as well. “Why don’t you let your sister eat in peace, Althea, and tell me what you did at your grandparents?”  
  
Althea shrugged, jumped down from the couch and went over to her father. He lifted her onto his lap and listened to Althea speak in Parseltongue. However, Hermione could see him glancing at the baby now and again.  
  
Ever since the birth, Voldemort hadn’t seemed to be able to stay away from the baby for long. Twice already she had awoken to him standing over the cradle in the middle of the night. It was starting to unnerve her, but she didn’t know how to talk to him about it.  
  
“Well, perhaps that is something we should take up with your mother,” Voldemort suddenly said in English and turned to Hermione. “Althea wants to know why her little sister doesn’t have a name yet.”  
  
Hermione looked down at the small girl in her arms. “We just haven’t come up with a perfect one yet. You know, Althea, it took me several days to figure out what your name should be.”  
  
Althea considered this and looked at the little baby, frowning.  
  
“What do you think about Alexandra?” Voldemort suddenly asked.  
  
Althea’s face lit up. “Pretty!”  
  
Hermione looked at Voldemort curiously. “How did you come up with that name?”  
  
Voldemort shrugged. “It just came to me yesterday when I was holding her, but I wasn’t sure. What do you think?”  
  
Hermione looked down at the small girl sucking at her breast. “I think Alexandra will work just fine.”  
  
Not long after that, Althea had to take a nap to adjust from the time difference. Once she was in bed, Voldemort came and sat down next to Hermione who was trying to stop Alexandra from crying.  
  
“This is the hardest part,” Hermione said with a tired sigh. “Before you learn why they are crying.”  
  
“I think she is tired,” Voldemort commented. “The Healer said she would sleep a lot the first time, and she has been up for two hours now.”  
  
Hermione grimaced. She should have thought about that. However, she was pretty tired as well. She hadn’t got a lot of sleep that night, and she still needed to recover from the labour.  
  
“Give her to me, I’ll walk with her,” Voldemort said, reaching out for the baby.  
  
Grateful, Hermione let him have her. Her arms were getting tired as well.  
  
“Perhaps we should scan her for fairy magic,” Hermione said after a moment. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up, because she was afraid of the answer. However, they needed to know.  
  
“I already did last night,” Voldemort said. “She has no fairy magic inside her.”  
  
Hermione felt like a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying was suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Good. Then they only needed to worry about Althea. But as Voldemort had said, they had time. She could take the rest of the summer to recover without worry.  
  
“You are not as I expected you would be with a newborn,” Hermione noted when Alexandra’s cries had lessened.   
  
Voldemort carried the baby, bouncing her just a little. “I have always hated infants, so I was actually expecting that this would be a lot harder. But it isn’t. She reminds me of Nagini, actually. Nagini was difficult to handle at the beginning, but from the moment I saw her, I knew she would be my familiar. She was just … perfect. I felt the same the first time I saw Alexandra.”  
  
“I hope you don’t plan to feed her humans and make her into a Horcrux,” Hermione said, a little bit worried.  
  
Voldemort smiled but kept looking at Alexandra whose cries were lessening. “No. You need not worry, kitten. She will be perfectly safe.”  
  
Hermione had a nagging feeling that she and Voldemort didn’t mean the same thing with the word “safe”, but she didn’t know how to comment on it. The good thing was that he seemed honest and would take care of the baby. Maybe even happily. Coming from Voldemort, that was probably as much as she could hope for.  
  
Hermione put her head against the armrest of the couch and looked at how happy he seemed with Alexandra. Perhaps this would be the time to bring up the proposal she had worked on for so long? There would probably not be a better time.  
  
“You know, both you and I grew up in the Muggle world,” she began slowly. “Even ‘Marcus’ has. People will expect our children to know their way around the Muggle world. And don’t you just hate those ignorant wizards who make a fool of themselves every time they have to step outside their own world. I mean, even though they try not to, they always do end up there eventually.”  
  
Voldemort arched an eyebrow and looked up at her, seemingly amused. “What do you want, kitten?”  
  
“I think we should put Althea in a Muggle preschool in September. And Alexandra, too, when she gets old enough. Althea needs to be around children her own age. She doesn’t have any friends.”  
  
“And what about the fairies? We can hardly tell a Muggle teacher to watch out for Althea behaving strangely due to magical creatures like we can when we leave her with your parents, or the nanny. What if they take her or start to spend time with her again, trying to talk her into killing Alexandra?”   
  
Voldemort didn’t sound angry, but Hermione could see that he didn’t like the idea.  
  
“We can’t just keep her at home all the time out of fear, Voldemort,” she said as calmly as she could. “If we put her into a completely Muggle environment, we can monitor it for magical activity. I’ve looked into the matter, and I’m fairly certain I can make sure it detects fairy-activity as well. If we notice any fairies visiting her, we can just Apparate there and tell them to leave. Either they will stop coming after a few tries, or we just remove Althea from the preschool.”  
  
It looked like he was considering it. Hermione waited, nervous.  
  
“How do you expect her to get into a good preschool on such short notice? Because I won’t let her go to some public school where thirty children are left in a big room with no supervision.”  
  
“I actually enrolled her in a sufficient preschool in Oxford when I first moved here a year ago. My mum helped me pick it out. Back then, I told Althea about it, and she seemed to like the idea. I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet new friends.”  
  
Voldemort regarded Alexandra again and stopped his swaying. Apparently, the girl had fallen asleep.   
  
“You have thought about this for some time,” he remarked softly.  
  
Hermione stood up and slowly walked over to him. Walking still felt a bit strange after the delivery, but she tried not to think too much about it.   
  
“Please Voldemort, I only want her to have a normal childhood. Play with other children and all that. She deserves the best.”  
  
“And this is what you think is the best?” He still wasn’t looking at her.  
  
“Yes.” She placed her hand over his, which was lying on Alexandra’s stomach.  
  
Voldemort sighed and looked up at her. “Well, it will give me more opportunities to fuck you once you have healed.”  
  
Hermione smiled and stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on his lips. “We will still have Alexandra, though.”  
  
“I can fuck you while you breastfeed,” he replied, grinning.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and then glanced down at their youngest daughter. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. It took her a split second to make up her mind.  
  
“Come,” she said and nudged him towards the bedroom. “We should take the opportunity to get some adult time.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow at her but followed her. “The Healer said that even with magic helping you heal, it would take at least a month before we can fuck again.”  
  
She smirked. “Vaginally, yes.”  
  
The lust in his eyes lit at once. “Oh, my naughty little kitten.”  
  
Alas, they didn’t make it to the bedroom, because right then, there was a knock on the door. Hermione cursed. Even though she couldn’t have sex properly, she wanted to just lie naked together with Voldemort. She felt strangely empty without the child inside her. Not that she wanted to be pregnant again, she just wanted closeness.  
  
Instead, she went and opened the door, while a disappointed Voldemort went to put the baby in her crib.  
  
Ginny and Harry stood outside the door. Ginny was beaming with happiness, carrying a present wrapped in purple paper against her huge stomach. Harry was standing just behind her, looking a bit pale.  
  
“Hermione!” Ginny greeted and handed her the gift. “We heard that you had the baby yesterday and just wanted to bring this.”  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione said and, after making a split second decision, she also invited them to come in.  
  
She had seen Ginny several times since the wedding almost four months earlier, and the redhead had seemingly got over her encounter with the Dark Lord. She had also warmed up a lot to Marcus and was appearing to grow quite fond of him. Harry, however, was another story.  
  
Hermione was overwhelmed with guilt every time she saw him. She knew Harry was going through hell. But he didn’t seem to blame her. Instead, he looked at her with worry and was usually trying to ask her how she felt the few times they had met. He never asked about Voldemort and hadn’t seen him since the week after the wedding. Sooner or later, that would become suspicious, though, and Hermione thought that this would be as good time as any to start trying to smooth things over. Harry should really try to be in the same room as Voldemort and learn to act like nothing was amiss.  
  
“Do you want some tea?” Hermione asked as they walked inside the flat.  
  
“We don’t want to be a bother, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “We understand if you are tired. Ginny has made me read all the books about how the labour is and …” he trailed off with a shudder.  
  
Hermione snorted. “I’m fine. The labour was quick and without complications.”  
  
Right then, Voldemort came out the bedroom. “Oh, the Potters. Hello. How nice to see you.”  
  
Ginny beamed at him. “Hello, ‘Daddy’. How does it feel having two children?”  
  
Voldemort smiled at her. “I can’t take my eyes off of the little one. Who knew babies were so cute? But since she is sleeping now, I guess I’ll have to do with you. You look absolutely radiant.”  
  
Even though Hermione was happy that Ginny didn’t suspect a thing anymore, she wasn’t happy with the teasing going on between Ginny and Voldemort. From the look on his face, neither did Harry.  
  
“Thank you,” Ginny said. “You don’t look too bad yourself, but then again, Hermione was the one who went through the hard part.”  
  
“Yes. Still, it’s very hard to see the woman you love going through that amount of pain and not be able to do anything about it.” Voldemort walked up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her. “Be prepared, Harry.”  
  
Harry just nodded, his jaw set.  
  
Voldemort turned his attention to Hermione again. “Let me make us some tea, kitten.” He kissed her forehead and then gave her a small nudge towards the couch.  
  
Hermione just nodded and bid Ginny and Harry to sit down on the armchairs. “How are you feeling, Ginny?”  
  
The redhead smiled at her. “Wonderful! I’ve got so much energy. I have spent the entire weekend cleaning the flat from floor to roof. I just got this impulse.”  
  
Hermione smiled; she had read that it wasn’t uncommon, but she hadn’t experienced it. “How about you, Harry? How are you?”  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Just busy with work. I have put in a lot of overtime so I can stay at home with Ginny and the baby when the time comes.”  
  
Hermione nodded in understanding.  
  
“Here we go.” Voldemort levitated a plate with tea and biscuits over to the coffee table. He gave Hermione her cup first and then turned to Ginny. “Milk?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Ginny said and reached for the cup.  
  
Hermione could see Harry tense and clench his jaws again, but he didn’t stop his wife from taking the cup.  
  
“Harry, would you like some milk?” Voldemort asked, and Hermione thought she could hear a hint of taunt in his voice.  
  
“No, thank you,” Harry said with ice-cold politeness.  
  
Hermione saw Ginny frown at her husband, but when Harry accepted the cup, she just shrugged it off.  
  
Voldemort sat down next to Hermione with his own cup and sipped it. “Please, help yourself to the biscuits.”  
  
Ginny happily did, but Hermione didn’t feel like it. She was actually wishing that her friends would leave so she could cuddle up next to a naked Voldemort and just sleep until Alexandra needed feeding.  
  
“Where is Althea?” Ginny asked after a moment of silence.  
  
“She’s sleeping—she just returned from Australia. Since we had a home birth, we thought it would be best if she stayed with her grandparents. Don’t want to subject a four-year-old to that sort of screaming,” Voldemort said with a chuckle.  
  
“No,” Harry agreed. “She might think Hermione was being tortured.”  
  
He sounded bitter, and Hermione winced. If Harry kept acting like this, Ginny would definitely realise that something was up.  
  
Voldemort, however, just chuckled. “Oh, I think Althea is aware that I would never harm her mother. Nonetheless, it is quite unnecessary for her to get scared.”  
  
Right then, a scream was heard from inside the bedroom. Hermione jumped, ready to go to her child. Voldemort, however, stopped her.   
  
“I’ll take her,” he said, but at the same time, he touched her hand and she could feel the whisper of his mind: _Remind your friend of the oath._  
  
“Oh, do you want to see her, Ginny?” Voldemort asked. “She probably just needs her diaper changed, and then, we can bring her out here.”  
  
Ginny looked more than happy to, and if she found it strange that Voldemort didn’t ask Harry to come, she didn’t show it. Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised if all she could think about right now was babies.  
  
Once the bedroom door was closed, Hermione looked at Harry with a frown. “I know this is hard for you, Harry, but you can’t do anything to make Ginny suspicious of who he is.”  
  
Harry balled both of his hands into fists. “How can you stand it, Hermione? He is just sitting there like he doesn’t have a problem in the world, laughing and talking like he’s … _normal_!”  
  
Hermione sighed. “I know. But I’ve learned to live with it. You have to find a way to cope with it, too, otherwise … he will win.”  
  
“So you know he is only doing this to torture me?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
She grimaced. “I’ve been living with him for almost a year. I’ve picked up a thing or two about him. But if you just leave him alone, he will leave you alone. I promise.”  
  
Harry sat quietly for a moment. “You _have_ fallen in love with him.”  
  
Hermione blinked. The statement caught her off guard. At first, she wanted to laugh and tell him that he was being ridiculous, like she had four months ago. She wanted to tell him that she could never love the man who had destroyed so many people’s lives.  
  
But something made her pause. Perhaps it were all the love hormones that were running around in her body after the pregnancy, but all of a sudden, she was uncertain of her own feelings. Sure, she had feelings for him. He was the father of her children, and they did have fun together. He was the study friend she had always dreamt of. She felt safe with him, even though she knew she couldn’t always trust him. But it wasn’t love. Because love was something else.  
  
Love was …  
  
Well, she couldn’t really compare it to the love she felt for her children, parents or friends. Voldemort was part of her family, so to some extent, she did feel that kind of love for him. She couldn’t picture her life without him any more than she could picture her life without Althea and Alexandra. That was the sort of love she felt. But not the other kind. The true love kind.  
  
 _True_ love was …  
  
“Hermione?” Harry had got up and was standing next to her.  
  
 _Love is the insane notion that makes people risk their lives for someone else._  
  
Voldemort’s words came back to her. That was what he thought love was. She didn’t feel like that for him. She would never risk her life to save his.  
  
Or would she?  
  
She would risk her life to save any other member of her family. If someone tried to cast the Killing Curse at her children, she would—without a doubt—throw herself in front of them. But for Voldemort?  
  
“No, I … I don’t know,” she said as she realised it. “I don’t know.”  
  
Harry sat down on the couch next to her, taking her hand. She looked at him. Harry would definitely risk his life for Ginny. He was risking his own sanity for her well-being as it was. Hermione was certain Ginny would do the same for him. That was true love. That was the difference between the two couples. It didn’t matter if Hermione knew whether she loved him or not, because Voldemort didn’t love her. He would never even consider risking his own life for hers.  
  
True love went both ways. She would never have that.  
  
She began crying in earnest. Harry wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried.  
  
“It will be alright,” Harry mumbled. “Some way, I’ll make it alright.”  
  
Hermione didn’t believe him. She was trapped. She would never experience true love because the truth was that she didn’t want to leave Voldemort. Because she did love him.  
  
Of course she did. It could be the only description for the emotions she was feeling for him. She had never felt anything like it before. It had to be love, even though it wasn’t Voldemort’s definition of the word. But she didn’t think he felt anything like that for her.  
  
The bedroom door opened, and a moment later, she felt herself being pulled away from Harry.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Voldemort asked, looking into her eyes.  
  
Hermione looked away and saw Ginny standing at the other side of the room with Alexandra in her arms. “I’m just … exhausted.”  
  
She felt Voldemort’s lips at the top of her head. “Yes, you should sleep. Come on.”  
  
He helped her up from the couch.  
  
“I don’t mean to be rude, but …” Voldemort trailed off, and Hermione knew he must be giving Harry and Ginny a meaningful look.  
  
“We understand completely,” Ginny said. “We didn’t mean to stay long; we just wanted to say hi and give you the gift.”  
  
“Thank you,” Voldemort said. “You’ll have to come back another day, when we have had a bit more rest.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Hermione didn’t dare look up when her friends took their leave. When Voldemort let go of her to take Alexandra, she hugged herself, feeling weak and vulnerable. She only mumbled her goodbyes to them and didn’t look up until they were gone.  
  
Voldemort made a gesture for her to follow him to the bedroom again.  
  
“Strip and lie down,” Voldemort ordered her. “You do need to sleep. You can give me a blowjob later.”  
  
The comment was so typical for him that she laughed, but it soon turned into crying again. She did need to sleep. What surprised her was when he lay Alexandra down on the bed next to her. The little girl looked at her with big, dark-blue eyes. Hermione lifted her and cradled Alexandra against her breast. A moment later, Voldemort lay down behind her, spooning her.  
  
“What are you really crying about?” he asked, his lips brushing against her neck.  
  
Hermione didn’t bother lying. “You’ll never love me.”  
  
He was silent for a moment; then his hand sneaked up to where hers was resting on the baby. “I’ve already told you that what I feel for you is real and much more powerful than love.”  
  
“You don’t understand love,” she replied scornfully.  
  
He sighed. “Hermione. Kitten. If you begin to dwell about this, you will only make yourself unhappy. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have Althea or Alexandra. You would probably not be about to marry a very wealthy, handsome, intelligent and powerful wizard who thinks you are the most interesting person he has ever laid eyes on.” He kissed her neck, sending shivers down her body.  
  
Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. He was right. She had a lot to be happy about. So what if she wouldn’t experience the thing Ginny and Harry had. There was no guarantee that she would have, even if she hadn’t met Voldemort.  
  
Still. Everyone wanted to be loved.  
  
Alexandra had fallen asleep again, and Hermione carefully moved the baby away from her and turned around to face Voldemort. “Lie to me,” she asked. “Please. Just once.”  
  
Voldemort stroked her cheek with a small smile on his lips. “I love you.”  
  
He really was a great actor. But Hermione knew him too well. She smiled sadly. “Liar.”   
  
Then, she leaned towards him and kissed him.

 

xxx

  
“We … don’t … have … time … for … this.” Hermione gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around her soon-to-be-husband. She was pressed up against the door of the dressing room she was supposed to be dressing in.  
  
“If I want to fuck on my wedding day, I will fuck,” Voldemort growled against her ear, moving in and out of her, fast and hard.  
  
Hermione didn’t utter any other objections. They hadn’t been able to fuck at all for almost two months after her delivery, and since then it seemed that Voldemort was trying to make up for lost time. Not that she minded, much. She had missed this intimacy with him, too.   
  
She let out a soft moan when she came, her legs going so weak she almost lost her grip around him. He answered by pushing her even harder against the wall and emptying himself inside her. He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing hard. Then he gave her a heated kiss and moved away, helping her regain her footing.  
  
“Good thing we decided to go commando today,” Hermione remarked as she cleaned herself with a quick spell before rearranging the skirt of her dress.  
  
“I think we should always go without underwear,” Voldemort answered in a chipper tone, cleaning himself. “You look very beautiful, by the way.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “Now he notices.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “You were equally horny, kitten.”  
  
Hermione didn’t bother to answer; instead, she turned towards the mirror again to make sure she didn’t have that “just shagged” look. Even she had to admit that Voldemort was right. She looked very beautiful. Ginny and Luna, her bridesmaids, had helped her with the hair and makeup. A small diadem made of diamonds and gold was placed at the top of her head, and her hair lay in a very complex knot around and behind it. She was wearing more makeup than she ever remembered wearing before, but it made her skin and neck look completely smooth; her eyes looked bigger and her lips redder. Although maybe that was more thanks to the kissing, rather than the makeup, that her lips looked so red. She would have to apply more lipstick.   
  
She eyed her dress critically, making sure nothing was torn or wrinkled because of Voldemort’s treatment. Because of her Muggle heritage, she had decided to wear a white, strapless, empire wedding dress with blue embroidered edgings. It had been fitted just a month ago since she had thought it risky to get a dress before her pregnancy had ended. Voldemort had paid a handsome price to get the dress done so quickly, but he had been more than happy to. Her dress was only a small amount of money in the grander scheme that was their wedding.  
  
When Voldemort had said he wanted a big wedding, Hermione hadn’t quite imagined it on this scale. She didn’t even know one-fifth of all the guests, but Voldemort sure seemed to. There were hundreds of people coming, and Voldemort had booked an entire hotel in Oxford to fit them all. They would be married in a great ballroom, and Kingsley would preside over their vows. It seemed like everyone she had ever known in the magical world had been invited, and possibly, everyone Voldemort knew as “Marcus Foster”. One-third were academics from around the world, but there were no names Hermione could pinpoint as extremely interesting from Voldemort’s point of view. She still hadn’t figured out why he wanted the big wedding.  
  
“I came to give you this,” Voldemort said, getting her attention again.   
  
He held a necklace in his hand. When she came closer, she saw that it was a pendent shaped as a heart. When she opened the heart, she saw today’s date engraved, together with their names. His real name, that was.  
  
She looked at him in surprise.  
  
“Everyone else will think it says Marcus,” Voldemort said with a smirk. “But I wanted you to have something that told the truth.”  
  
“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she said with a fond smile.  
  
He leaned closer and helped put it on. He stroked her neck, sending small sparks of pleasure down her body. “Just one hour left until it begins. Are you ready?”  
  
“I guess.”   
  
She had been nervous before. But then she had realised that this wouldn’t change anything between them. They would always be together, no matter if she had a ring on her finger or not. This was just for the world to find out as well. She did think the wedding was too much, but she had promised to grant his wish.  
  
The door to the dressing room opened, and her parents entered the room. Helen was carrying Alexandra who was whining.  
  
“There you are. I think she is hungry,” Helen said, ignoring Voldemort and handing Hermione the baby.  
  
“Isn’t it unlucky for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” Malcolm asked, frowning at Voldemort.  
  
“Not in the Wizarding World,” Hermione responded and sat down in one of the comfy armchairs with Alexandra. One of the reasons she had chosen a strapless dress was because she could move it down over her breast to feed Alexandra. They had prepared a few bottles for her earlier, though, if she became hungry during the ceremony or when Hermione couldn’t do it. Helen had promised to look after her granddaughter for Hermione.  
  
“Where is Althea?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Ginny is showing her how to walk down the aisle,” Helen answered. “She is already dressed and ready.”  
  
“And Kingsley has the rings for the Wedding Spells?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Yes, I gave them to him an hour ago,” Malcolm responded. “Friendly fellow that one. I could hardly believe he is the actual Minister.”  
  
“Yes, it was very nice of him to take the time to do this,” Hermione replied as Alexandra happily began to suck on her nipple. “We will have to remember sending him something to show our appreciation afterwards, Marcus.”  
  
Before Voldemort had time to reply, Helen interrupted, “Is that really what you are wearing, Marcus?”  
  
“No, but what I am wearing is only a dress robe; it takes two minutes to put on,” Voldemort replied, sounding annoyed.  
  
“Well, now is as good a time as any to take those two minutes and get it on,” Helen said briskly.  
  
“If you want time alone with Hermione, you only have to say so, Helen,” Voldemort replied sourly, but he left the room regardless.  
  
Hermione sighed and looked at her mother. “What is it?”  
  
Helen came to sit down next to her. She carefully spread the skirt of her golden-coloured dress so she wouldn’t wrinkle it.   
  
“We just want to know if you are certain that you are doing the right thing. This has all gone very fast, and this big fancy wedding … well, I’m your mother, I can see that you didn’t have a hand in planning this. I know I said I wouldn’t get in the way, and I won’t, I just want to make sure that this is what you want.”  
  
Hermione studied her mother closely. She did seem sincere in her worry, and Hermione couldn’t really blame her for worrying.  
  
“I’m sure, Mum. And about the wedding, no, I didn’t really plan it and I didn’t really want to. I saw all the stress it gave Ginny in the spring, and I didn’t want to go through that. Especially not with all the guests we ended up inviting. We have taken help from a wedding planner, Glenda Carson, or GC as she prefers to be called. It’s very relaxing to know that someone else is taking care of all this,” Hermione admitted.  
  
Helen sighed in defeat and patted Hermione’s shoulder. Then she rose. “Well then, is there something you want us to do before the ceremony begins?”  
  
Hermione, who would very much like to be alone for a little while, quickly thought about something. “Well, you can go and see that the ceremony hall is in order. I think it is, but it never hurts to check twice.”  
  
“Very well,” Helen said and walked towards the door.  
  
Malcolm came up to Hermione and leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you are happy, Hermione. I just can’t believe you are so grown up!”  
  
Hermione smiled at her father. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
When her parents had left, Hermione felt strangely detached from her emotions. Shouldn’t she be happier? Overwhelmed? Excited? She wasn’t. She just wanted this to be over, so she could go on her honeymoon. They would go to Switzerland where they had rented a cabin up on the Alps. They would be staying there for a week. In other words, they got to be naked and just fuck all the time. Except when Alexandra needed their attention. Althea would stay at home with her grandparents, something she seemed to be looking forward too. Hermione looked forward to having nothing else to worry about for a whole week.  
  
A knock was heard on the door.  
  
“Come in,” she called.  
  
It was Harry. He was carrying a baby who was screaming quite loudly. Little James Potter was just a month younger than Alexandra, but Hermione had come to understand that he was quite a handful.  
  
“Is Ginny here?” Harry asked, looking haggard. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him!”  
  
Hermione smiled. “No, but she said she would come by here and make sure I hadn’t screwed up my makeup or anything before the ceremony begins. Why don’t you come in and wait?”  
  
“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you,” Harry said, trying to comfort the screaming baby.  
  
“Yes. James is probably just tired. There will be nothing to disturb him here,” Hermione offered.   
  
Alexandra never seemed to be bothered by high noises for some reason. She just happily continued drinking milk from Hermione.  
  
Harry was just about to close the door when Voldemort showed up in the doorway. “What are you doing here Potter?” he asked, a frown forming on his forehead.  
  
“It’s okay,” Hermione quickly said. “I said he could wait for Ginny here. James is being cranky.”  
  
Voldemort didn’t seem all too happy about that, but he closed the door behind him and took a glance at his arch nemesis’s son. A scowl appeared on his face. “No wonder he is screaming like that, you have put way too many clothes on him. The thing is too hot.”  
  
Harry pressed his lips together. “Molly dressed him so he wouldn’t be cold. It’s the middle of winter.”  
  
“And it didn’t occur to you that you would be staying indoors during the ceremony? Give him to me,” Voldemort ordered and held out his hands.  
  
Harry watched him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Hand over my son to _you_ , just like that?”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Oh, Harry, you know I don’t kill babies. I try, but it just never seems to work, now, does it?” Then, as a second thought, he added: “I hope you haven’t been staring at my wife-to-be’s breast.”  
  
“What? No!” Harry objected, turning red.  
  
“Because I may have to poke your eyes out if you have,” Voldemort continued seriously.  
  
Hermione scowled. “Drop it, Voldemort, or else _you_ will be the one not seeing any more breasts.”  
  
Voldemort crossed his arms. “I don’t want other men staring at your breasts.”  
  
“He wasn’t,” Hermione established firmly. “If he happened to see a glimpse, then it would be no different from when my father caught me breastfeeding this morning. Besides, Harry is married. He has no interest in other women’s breasts.”  
  
“Those tiny, little things that redhead’s got?” Voldemort commented. “Come on, the poor boy must be longing for a real woman.”  
  
“That’s my wife you are talking about,” Harry growled, taking a step towards Voldemort.  
  
“Yes, I do feel for you,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “Nonetheless, don’t look at my fiancée’s breasts _if_ you value your life.”  
  
“Really, Voldemort! Do you want to sleep on the couch on your wedding night?” Hermione asked, just as Alexandra was finished with her meal. “Make yourself useful and take your own baby. I don’t want to get spit on my dress.”  
  
“But it’s okay if I get it on my robe?” He was dressed in a bright-blue dress robe.  
  
“Just take her,” Hermione ordered.  
  
Voldemort chuckled but took their daughter. Hermione tucked her breast inside her dress again and rose, walking over to Harry and the screaming James.  
  
“He does seem to be a bit hot, Harry. Why don’t we just remove the jacket?” she said in a less patronising tone than what Voldemort had used.  
  
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, uncertain.  
  
“Yes, he is all red,” Hermione said.  
  
It only took a couple of minutes for James to fall asleep in Harry’s arms when they had got rid of his jacket.  
  
“Told you so,” Voldemort muttered, wiping spit away from around Alexandra’s mouth.  
  
Harry was saved by the door opening again, revealing Ginny, clad in a dark-green dress. “Almost everyone is here!”  
  
For the first time that day, Hermione felt her stomach make a small jump in nervousness. She glanced at Voldemort, who looked pleased.  
  
“And is Althea ready?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Yes, Helen just took her to go to the bathroom. I think it’s time for the two of you to get to Kingsley,” Ginny said and then gave Hermione a critical look.  
  
Self-conscious, Hermione brought her hand to her hair to make sure everything was in place.  
  
“Your lipstick is smeared,” Ginny commented. “Come here.”  
  
Hermione let her friend fix her up again, and ten minutes later, she and Voldemort were alone and on their way to Kingsley. The soft Persian carpets on the floor dampened the sound of her heels. All of a sudden, her legs felt weak. Like they were made of spaghetti.   
  
She stopped, panic overwhelming her. Voldemort stopped as well, looking at her. “What’s wrong?”  
  
She just stared at him, not knowing what to say, because she didn’t know what was wrong. Voldemort took a step closer to her and grasped her hand. She heard a soft whisper at the back of her head.   
  
_Tell me._  
  
Hermione couldn’t stop the flood of emotions and mixed thoughts from going straight to her fiancé’s mind. They had got rather good at communicating through touch, and she had also learned how to send more than mere thoughts through the bond. Voldemort’s face softened, and he sent back a wave of calmness.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Merlin, she was about to get married!  
  
“I heard that cold feet are quite common before the wedding,” Voldemort mumbled softly and embraced her. “Don’t worry, kitten. Everything will be fine.”  
  
“You promise? You promise you won’t go back to your old hobbies when we are older and have had some trouble and …” she trailed off, holding back a sob. She couldn’t cry now. It was her wedding day.  
  
“You have nothing to worry about, Hermione,” he whispered softly. “I will get new hobbies. Less … bloody.”  
  
That wasn’t necessarily excluding killing, but it did calm her to some extent. She would simply have to do her best to stop him from killing again. She had managed for almost a year now. What was another fifty?  
  
He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Are you ready?”  
  
She nodded. Still slightly shaky, Hermione entered the small office that lay directly behind the ballroom where they would be married. Kingsley was going through his script when they entered, mumbling under his breath. When he heard them, he looked up, smiling.  
  
“Wow,” he said, his eyes moving over her. “Hermione, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”  
  
Hermione blushed and felt Voldemort’s grip on her hand tightening. She glanced at him, amused. “Thank you, Kingsley. I’m glad _someone_ noticed.”  
  
“I noticed!” Voldemort objected. “I just didn’t say it at once. It’s just stating the obvious, really.”  
  
However, her teasing had made him relax his grip again. Hermione smiled.  
  
“Well, then. Are you two ready?” Kingsley asked.  
  
Hermione’s stomach was suddenly in a tight knot of nerves. It wasn’t that she questioned herself, no, it was just that … this was her wedding! Soon, she would be standing in front of hundreds of people, confessing her love to Lord Voldemort. It was too bizarre for words.  
  
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Hermione said.  
  
“We are ready,” Voldemort concurred. “Have you seen my best man, by any chance?”  
  
“Yes, Master Mizuno is out in the hall, welcoming people together with Mrs Potter. They will both be here in five minutes or so,” Kingsley answered.  
  
“Excellent.”  
  
“I was a bit surprised when I heard you were so close with Master Mizuno,” Kingsley commented, his curiosity evident. “From what I understand, the head of Kyoto’s Magical Institute of Higher Learning rarely leaves Japan.”  
  
“Master Mizuno was my mentor when I wrote my doctorate thesis. We have kept in touch since then,” Voldemort said.   
  
It was the same he had told Hermione, but somehow, Hermione was sure there was more to it than that. For starters, Voldemort had written his thesis under quite suspect circumstances. Marcus Foster had never been enrolled in any school. Therefore, Hermione suspected that this Japanese Master knew a bit more about who Marcus Foster really was than others did, because Hermione didn’t think Master Mizuno was the sort of man you could blackmail.  
  
Master Mizuno was one of the best Masters of Transfiguration, ever. He had discovered and improved more spells than all the professors at Oxford put together. He was admired for his outstanding magical discipline and feared for his strictness with students.  
  
Hermione wasn’t surprised that Voldemort seemed to both respect and like the man. She just wondered why Master Mizuno had agreed to be his best man.  
  
“Do you have your vows?” Kingsley asked, interrupting Hermione’s line of thoughts.  
  
Voldemort tapped his temple. “All memorised.”  
  
“Ginny has mine,” Hermione said.   
  
She had memorised her vows as well, but she wanted to be able to look at it if she had to. It would feel a bit awkward speaking so intimately in front of all those people.  
  
“Excellent,” Kingsley replied as he went to the desk and picked up two rings. “Here are the rings, ready for the final incantation once you are wearing them and have said ‘I do’.”  
  
“Could I look at the magic you have put in them?” Voldemort asked, reaching out for the rings.  
  
“I can’t see why not,” Kingsley said and handed him the rings.  
  
Voldemort quickly withdrew his wand and began a diagnostic spell on the rings. Hermione rolled her eyes.   
  
“He is such a control freak,” she told Kingsley, as a way to explain Voldemort’s behaviour. “Wants to know that everything is in order.”  
  
“I seem to recall people saying the same about you, Hermione,” Kingsley teased her.  
  
Hermione snorted and then spent the next few minutes making small talk with Kingsley. Ten minutes before the wedding started, Ginny, Luna, Althea and Mizuno entered the office. Ginny handed Hermione a round bouquet with dark-blue Chinese Bellflowers.   
  
“Althea,” Voldemort said and crouched down next to her. “Do you have the little box I told you about?”  
  
Althea nodded and reached into the basket she was carrying. It was filled with blue petals she would have to throw up into the air during their walk down the aisle. When she removed her hand, she held a black box. Voldemort opened it and laid the rings inside.  
  
“Remember that when Kingsley,” he pointed at the Minister, “says it’s time to exchange rings, you’ll come up and hold up the box with the rings to us.”  
  
Althea nodded, looking solemn.  
  
“Good girl,” Voldemort said, stroking her hair. Her long, dark-brown hair had been combed into a plait, and he was careful not to destroy it.  
  
“Has everyone gone inside?” Hermione asked, feeling her stomach flutter again.  
  
“Almost,” Ginny answered. “GC has been counting them. Only twenty or so have had to cancel at the last minute, and there were only ten who hadn’t shown up when I left. But they still have a few minutes to spare.”  
  
“Good,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath.  
  
“That must be some salary you have at Oxford, Marcus, to pay for a wedding as big as this,” Mizuno said with a wry smile. There was only a hint of an accent in his voice, but then, Voldemort had told her Mizuno had spent a lot of time in Britain when he was young. Hermione had a hard time telling his age. She thought he was older than Voldemort, but he stood straight and his hair was still completely black. He was very thin and didn’t have that many wrinkles. There was, however, something in the way he moved and talked that showed how seasoned he was.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “It pays to be brilliant.”  
  
“Indeed.”   
  
Mizuno and Voldemort looked at each other as if they had just shared an inside joke.   
  
Kingsley looked at the clock hanging on the wall over the doorpost. “Two minutes to go. I think we better walk to the entrance.”  
  
When the clock struck two, they were all standing outside the doors to the ballroom.  
  
“Are you ready?” Kingsley asked.  
  
They all nodded. Hermione inhaled deeply to calm herself. Voldemort took her arm in his. Kingsley would go first. Then Althea would follow, throwing out petals, and then it was up to Ginny and Luna with Mizuno in the middle of them.  
  
Three cellists had been hired for the wedding. When Kingsley opened the door, they began playing “Wedding March”. The wedding planner had told her it was from a Swede called Larsson and would have their wedding stand out from the rest. Hermione found it beautiful, and for the first time today, she actually felt a bit of excitement running through her body.   
  
So now, she checked out the place with a new-found appreciation. On the wooden dance-floor, a wide, red carpet led to a slightly elevated platform on which the ceremony would take place. A wall of Chinese Bellflowers—the same as in Hermione’s bouquet—formed the background of the podium, giving the large space a more friendly feeling. On each side of the red carpet, rows and rows of comfortable, plush, velvet chairs seemed to go on forever. Voldemort had vetoed the simple, wooden benches normal people used for their wedding, which Hermione was certain the guests were very grateful for. Bouquets of Chinese Bellflowers flanked the chairs alongside the aisle, and the whole place was softly lit with floating, white candles, setting a romantic mood. All in all, she felt it was decorated nicely by GC. It, somehow, combined Voldemort’s wish for grandeur and hers for simplicity.      
  
Hermione waited impatiently as the other five began their march down the red carpet. It was a long walk, though. They had rented the biggest ballroom in the hotel, just so they would be able to fit all the guests. Kingsley entered first, setting the pace to an appropriate slow stride. He was followed by the best-man and the two bridesmaids, all walking arm in arm together. Master Mizuno looked mighty impressive in his traditional silk, black-and-white Hakama, stealing the show from the two girls with his mere presence.   
  
Ginny and Luna both wore a dress made of the same dark-green silk, though Ginny’s dress was short, tight and sexy whilst Luna had chosen a wide, ankle-length model with long bat sleeves. Even though Ginny had kept an eye on the bridesmaids’ clothing not clashing, she’d not been able to control Luna’s need to accessorise. Hermione could hear the cricket earrings chirping loudly as they made their way down the aisle.   
  
When Luna stood still, the chirping was a soft, unobtrusive, background noise. However, when she walked, it drowned out the music. Ginny had tried to get Luna to lose the earrings, but Luna had refused, stating that it was bad luck if the chirping stopped and explaining that crickets were essential in bringing good luck to the happy couple’s household and warding off the evil eye. So, the earrings stayed.           
  
By the time they’d reached their respective positions on the groom’s and bride’s side of the platform and it was Althea’s turn to enter, Hermione was getting restless. However, the sight of her little girl skipping down the aisle in what Althea called “her princess dress” almost made her teary-eyed. Althea looked so cute. The dress was from the same fabric as Hermione’s wedding gown, which had delighted the little girl. However, the cut was more child-friendly. It had a wide skirt, ending just below her knees, a simple bodice and short, wavy sleeves over her shoulders that Althea seemed to love the most.   
  
Althea threw a tiny amount of petals up in the air at every other skip. A few times, she looked backwards to her mother for reassurance, since during the practise ceremony she had run out of petals before reaching the end. Hermione smiled and nodded at her for doing it correctly this time, brightening Althea’s face even further. The crowd’s responses to the little girl made Althea even more enthusiastic. After tossing her last petals in the air at the end, she turned around and daringly waved to everyone before sitting down next to Helen.   
  
Then, it was finally time for Hermione and Voldemort to enter. Everyone rose. She gave some people she recognised a nervous smile as they walked down the aisle in a slow pace—something Hermione was grateful for because, despite her trail not being too long, she was worried she would step on it, trip and fall. It just wasn’t a style you were used to walking in. An older woman with a touched expression on her face nudged the man beside her and Hermione could hear her say “She is beautiful.” It made Hermione’s cheeks flush even harder, and she quickly averted her eyes. Though all the awed, smiling faces and other flattering reactions to her attire and person boosted her confidence. She’d been so nervous about how all these people Voldemort knew would judge her. Everyone knew she had been his student.  
  
 _How do you_ _feel?_   
  
Voldemort’s question was clear in her mind. He’d obviously noticed she’d been tightly clutching his arm.  
  
 _Fine. I can’t believe you managed to get so many people to show up. Who are they?_   
  
She answered while her eyes swept over the rows of unfamiliar faces. She was reminded of the time that she had walked into the Great Hall during the Yule Ball with Victor Krum. Just like then, she could also see jealousy in some people’s faces.  
  
 _Just people I’ve encountered during my time as Marcus,_ Voldemort replied. _Don’t worry about them._  
  
They came up to the platform where Kingsley, Mizuno, Ginny and Luna were already standing. Althea was sitting on the first row with Hermione’s parents. She would come forward when it was time for the rings.  
  
Once Hermione and Voldemort were facing each other in front of Kingsley, he began.  
  
“Friends, family. We have gathered here today to see Marcus Gustav Foster and Hermione Jean Granger unite in magical matrimony. If anyone has any reason as to why these two shouldn’t unite, speak now or forever hold your peace.”  
  
For just one moment, Hermione’s eyes fell on the front row. Harry sat there, right next to her parents. Just as her eyes met his, she could see the agony in him. But he didn’t make an attempt to rise. Instead, he looked do down, ashamed. Hermione let out a silent sigh in relief. She had been worried Harry would try something, despite the consequences.  
  
“Marriage contains a magic of its own,” Kingsley continued. “Two individuals come together and decide to live together. Sometimes it doesn’t work. We all have our failed relationships where, even though we love them, it just doesn’t seem to work. But then, we find that one person where living together works. And not just living together, as in sharing the same quarters, but loving together. Laughing and crying together. Helping each other. Fighting for each other.”  
  
“It’s a mysterious and powerful magic at work here. One that doesn’t just unite the body, but the soul as well. The marriage act is merely a declaration to the world for what the two persons in love have known all along.” Kingsley paused. “However, it’s always enjoyable to see and hear. Therefore, the happy couple will let their feelings be known in their vows. Hermione?”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. This was the part she was uncomfortable with. She and Voldemort hadn’t told each other what they were going to say, and for the first time in her life, Hermione had had no idea what to write on an assignment. She was certain Voldemort was going to come up with an amazing speech about love that would all be a lie. Therefore, she didn’t want to spill out her true emotions for him either. However, the audience would expect great words of love being uttered, because that was what you said when you got married. In the end, she had decided to go with honesty.  
  
“Marcus,” she said, looking up at him. “You’ve given me two beautiful daughters that I love dearly and vow to protect from harm, always, like I know you will, too. There is no other man out there like you. Words fail to describe what I feel for you, so I’ll have to show it instead.”  
  
Then, she reached up and pulled him down into a heated kiss.   
  
Voldemort wasn’t late to answer her. His arms came around her, and he pressed her closer to him. She wrapped her hand into his hair, tugging just slightly in a way she knew he liked. Somewhere in the audience, a person catcalled. Hermione was quite sure it was George. Regretfully, she pulled away from him.  
  
Voldemort looked slightly dazed when he came up from the kiss. Then, a knowing smile spread over his face. He realised she hadn’t wanted to say too much. He grasped her hands again, pressing them.  
  
Kingsley cleared his throat. “Um, yes. That was … well spoken, Hermione. Marcus?”  
  
“Shakespeare once said that ‘Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind’. However, I must say that my eyes definitely like what they see. And I doubt you’d be standing up here with me today if you didn’t like what you saw as well,” Voldemort said, smiling.   
  
The audience chuckled while Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. Of course Voldemort would make this speech pretentious and all about how wonderful he was.  
  
“Shakespeare also forgot to mention the importance of the soul. Hermione, you are my Soul Mate. No one else realises that love as powerful as what you and I have leaves its own mark. Not a wedding ring, not a visible sign … to love as deeply as we do, not even death could make us part. We will always be bound to each other and always protect each other. There is no force strong enough to come between us. We are entwined.”  
  
He stroked her fingers softly as he talked, never once looking away from her.   
  
“You are carrying a part of my soul with you. It’s something I have never dared to give anyone else ever before. But I know that you’ll care for it and nurture it, guard it and love it, because that’s how wonderful you are.”  
  
Voldemort was quite the actor, Hermione thought. He looked very sincere, but she knew it was all an act. He wasn’t able to love. But he was sure as hell able to look like he was in love. She was nervous, though. He was saying an awful lot of things with an unclear, double meaning. He was wording it so that she was the active party in his vows. In fact, he had only said things that she would have to do and nothing about what he would do.  
  
“How can I not promise to love you for all eternity when a mere hour without you feels like a lifetime?”  
  
So typically Voldemort. Hermione had a hard time trying not to snort. Promising things with a question mark at the end, such a nice way to speak about love that didn’t entail him actually having to mean it.  
  
“What can I say to you now that I haven’t already said a million times before? How can I not give you everything you ever wanted or needed? You are the one person who _truly_ knows me, understands me, works with me and stands by my side. Always. I know you love me and you know how much I love you. Together, we can move mountains, touch the moon, reach for the stars, topple the earth’s axis and so much more that I _can’t even mention_ … how much you mean to me. Together, we are unstoppable. You make me want to be more than I am. For you. You’ve changed my perspective, my life, my way of being. I just want to _make love_ to you all day long.  And for the rest of our days, I vow to do just that.”   
  
Then, his mouth found hers in a hungry kiss.  
  
Even though his words had made her uncomfortable, Hermione couldn’t resist to smile at the last part as he deepened the kiss. Of course the only vow he would actually take was the one where he swore to fuck her at every opportunity.  
  
Once they had broken the kiss, Kingsley cleared his throat and said, “After those ... _impressive_ vows, it is time to exchange the rings.”  
  
Hermione looked at Althea who, with a little nudge from Helen, came up to the platform and held up the box with the two wedding rings. Hermione smiled at her daughter and took the bigger of the rings, sliding it onto Voldemort’s finger. Voldemort leaned down and took the smaller ring at the same time as he stroked Althea’s cheek.  
  
“Good girl, now you can go back to Grandma,” he whispered.  
  
Althea smiled brightly and went back to her own seat as Voldemort straightened.  
  
Hermione felt a tremor go through her body as Voldemort put the ring on her finger and the magical marriage bond was sealed.  
  
“Hermione Granger, Marcus Foster, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss each other. Again.”  
  
The audience laughed cheerfully at Kingsley’s pun. But the moment Voldemort’s lips made contact with hers, she completely forgot about her surroundings. Her hand came up to his hair, and she kissed him hard. Snogging him, even. Voldemort was returning it in equal heat.  
  
The loud applause made her aware of her surroundings again. She blushed, but  nevertheless grinned, turning to face the crowd. As her fingers intertwined with his, she felt triumph and smugness in her belly. Everyone could see that he was hers now. It hadn’t really occurred to her before, but now it hit her as clearly as if a Hippogriff had jumped on her back. He belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him. Her husband. Lord Voldemort.  
  
She looked out over the sea of people when another realisation hit her. They were people from all around the world. Powerful people. Not just academics, but former academics who were politicians now. Many of them.  
  
Her grip tightened around his hand. _You have influence over all these people?_ she asked him mentally.  
  
 _Obviously. Give me ten years and I’ll have them eating out of the palm of my hand._  
  
Hermione stared wide-eyed at the people. When could he have met all of these people? Quickly, the answer came to her. The Cook Islands! He had been there again just two months ago. After that, he had told her how many people would be coming to their wedding.  
  
He must have left quite the impression on them to come all the way to Britain just for a wedding. Yet, she wasn’t surprised. Voldemort was very charming.  
  
But why would he want to have influence over all of those people?  
  
Hermione scolded herself over the stupid question. It was all about power, of course. Voldemort always wanted power. She didn’t know if he had a plan for what he wanted to do with the power— though he probably did—or if he just wanted the knowledge that he had power. It didn’t even matter. He got it.  
  
As they walked out of the hall, Hermione felt rather strange. Voldemort was her husband. She had managed to get him to stop killing through sex. He was hers. He was going to become a very powerful and influential man. She had influence and power over him.  
  
 _She_ got power.

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for their wonderful work of betaing. You two are awesome! Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle!

**PART TWO**  
  
 **Chapter 35**  
  
Voldemort had become an obsession for Harry Potter. _That_ he had to admit to himself. No matter how happy he was with his wife and their three children, Harry could never forget that his best friend was married to his nemesis.  
  
What worried Harry the most was that she seemed very happy with the way things were. It had been three years now since the last time she had seemed concerned about her husband’s activities. Harry remembered it well. It had been the day Voldemort had been elected to sit in the Wizengamot. As the head of the Auror Department, Harry had a chair in the Wizengamot, and he had been one of the few who had voted on another candidate for the chair. Once Voldemort had been elected, Harry had gone straight to Hermione to see if she knew what he was doing.  
  
“ _It’s his new hobby,” Hermione said with a scowl as she directed some boxes with her wand to their allocated positions. They had moved into a house just outside Oxford,_ _and apparently,_ _Hermione had been left doing all the_ _unpacking._  
  
“ _What sort of hobby?_ ” _Harry asked, moving aside to let a_ _box fly_ _past him and up a flight of stairs._  
  
“ _He hasn’t told me yet, but I think he_ ’ _s trying to change a few laws.” A frown of worry appeared on her face and she turned to Harry. “Look, I know it’s hard, but can_ ’ _t_ _you try to get along with him? People think you are friends. It will look suspicious if you try to stop everything he does.”  
_  
“ _And what if he tries to make some sort of law against Muggle-borns using magic again?” Harry asked._  
  
 _Hermione snorted. “Do you really think I have lived with him for all these years without making him lose some of his hate against Muggles and especially Muggle-borns? No, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t try anything too horrible.”_  
  
The glint in her eyes had made Harry, not for the first time, wonder how much Voldemort was rubbing off on Hermione. She was more confident now than Harry had ever seen, and it was obvious that she had some influence over her husband as well. Harry had been very surprised when she had managed to enrol both of her children into a Muggle school, for starters. Then there was the campaign to allow Muggle-borns and their parents to learn about the wizarding world before they got their Hogwarts letter, which had been a success.  
  
Harry had collected every little thing he could about “Marcus Foster” ever since he found out who he really was seven-years-and-four-months ago. He had also tried to find a way to reveal Voldemort’s identity without risking Ginny, but he had been unsuccessful. However, the strange woman who called herself Morgana had appeared a few times over the years, telling him they were working on a way to free him from the curse.  
  
He only hoped that they wouldn’t be too late.

 

xxx

  
“Mummy! Althea took the last apple, but you told me I could have it. Tell her to give it back to me!” Seven-year-old Alexandra came running into Hermione’s workroom, her brown eyes burning with fury. Her eyes were the only quality she had inherited from her mother; otherwise, she got Voldemort’s face and his dark hair.  
  
“I’m hungry and there’s no food here.” Eleven-year-old Althea came into the workroom after her sister, a half-eaten apple in her hand. “When’s Dad coming home?”  
  
Hermione massaged her temples. She had been dealing with a particularly annoying group of undergraduates the whole morning and her patience was already stretched thin. “Well, Althea may not have known that you were going to take the last apple, Alex. Why don’t you take a peach instead?”  
  
“I wanted an apple,” Alexandra growled, her small hands turning into fists.  
  
Hermione groaned. It was scary how much her youngest daughter could remind her of Voldemort sometimes. “Althea, don’t you like peaches more than apples? Perhaps you can give Alexandra the rest of the apple and get a peach instead? Dad will be home to make dinner soon.”  
  
Althea answered by licking all over the rest of the apple. “She can have it, but now it’s filled with my spit.”  
  
“Mum!” Alexandra complained.  
  
“It’s only spit, love, it won’t kill you,” Hermione responded. “Either take the apple or get another piece of fruit.”  
  
Alexandra eyed the apple like it was covered in green slime. Althea smirked in victory and was about to take another bite when Alexandra rushed forward and took the apple from her hand. She quickly took a big bite and rushed out from the room with her trophy.  
  
“Mum!” Althea complained.  
  
“You did say she could have it, darling,” Hermione said, hoping that Althea wouldn’t become angrier. Both her girls had a temper, but Alexandra’s was a tiny bit worse. However, Althea was the one who could sulk for days if she felt mistreated. Therefore, Hermione quickly added, “But I’m sure your father will be home soon, and after we have eaten dinner, we have a surprise for you.”  
  
Althea immediately forgot her bad mood. “What is it?”  
  
Hermione smiled secretively. It was the First of August, which meant that the Hogwarts letters had been sent to all eleven-year-olds across Britain. They had received the owl this morning and had decided to celebrate it properly with a nice dinner and cake that night.  
  
“You’ll see,” Hermione said and winked before turning back to her papers. “Now shoo, I  
have a few papers to grade, and I want them out of the way before Marcus comes home.”  
  
After much discussion, they had decided not to let the children know what “Marcus’s” real name was. Therefore, Hermione always called Voldemort “Marcus” when they were with the children. It was safer for all of them. It had been hard for Hermione in the beginning, but she was used to it now, only saying “Voldemort” in their bedroom (which had a constant Silencing Charm over it).  
  
Althea, looking much more excited, left the room. However, when Hermione just had two essays left to grade, Alexandra came in again and broke her concentration.  
  
“Mum?”  
  
“Yes, dear?”  
  
“Do we have to go to the Weasley’s on Sunday?”  
  
Hermione looked up at her daughter. Alexandra’s expression was guarded, but Hermione could see that something was troubling her youngest child.  
  
“Why wouldn’t you want to go?” Hermione asked, careful to make her voice neutral.   
  
Alexandra was very difficult when it came to lecturing. Just like her father, she always thought she knew best and became angry if someone patronised her. Hermione had learned that the best way to deal with her was to reason with her. That way, Hermione was usually able to set her daughter straight.  
  
Alexandra crossed her arms. “They are so stupid. And noisy.”  
  
Hermione held back a sigh. “Well, it has been a while since we were there, and Mrs Weasley is very much looking forward to see us. It would be quite mean to disappoint her when we have promised to come.”  
  
Alexandra’s shoulders slumped.  
  
“Or is this because of James and Teddy?” Hermione asked carefully.  
  
Alexandra pressed her lips together. Hermione didn’t know exactly what or if something had happened between Alexandra and the boys. Everyone had sort of left all the children alone together, figuring they could play. Especially Alexandra and James since they were the same age. It had all seemed fine up until a few months ago, when they had been at the Weasleys for Sunday brunch. As usual, the children had left the dinner table as soon as they could in favour of playing outside. However, something must have happened, because Alexandra and Althea had come back in again, looking angry. None of them had wanted to say what was wrong, but since then, the girls had been very reluctant to talk to James and Teddy again.  
  
“Alexandra, if they did something bad to you or Althea, you can tell me. I’ll speak with Andromeda, Ginny and Harry about it.” Hermione had not wanted to interrogate her daughter before, hoping that Alexandra would come and tell her herself when she was ready. Or maybe even fix it by herself. When she had talked to Althea, she had told her it had just been a silly game gone wrong. But if it were still bothering Alexandra after all these months, Hermione wanted to know what it was.  
  
“They were mean,” Alexandra finally said.  
  
“In what way?” Hermione asked.  
  
The young girl grimaced. “James said Althea was a slag and Teddy laughed. So I magicked them.”  
  
Hermione dropped the pencil she was holding. “He called her a _what_?”  
  
“Slag,” Alexandra repeated seriously. “It means a girl who has a lot of boyfriends.”  
  
Hermione was well aware of what it meant. She wasn’t too glad that her children apparently knew what it meant, too.   
  
“Why on earth would he call Althea that?” Hermione asked, appalled.  
  
Alexandra shrugged. “He is stupid. They are both stupid.”  
  
“If he called her that, then he is,” Hermione growled, shaking her head. “But Alex, it’s not very nice to use magic on someone just because they are stupid.”  
  
Alexandra’s hands turned into fists again. “He deserved it!”  
  
Since Hermione was quite sure that she would have reacted in a similar way, she let the subject drop. At least Alexandra stood up for her sister.  
  
Right then, someone Apparated into the hallway. “Hello?”  
  
Voldemort.   
  
Hermione smiled. “In here!”  
  
Alexandra’s expression was instantly brighter. “Dad!”  
  
A few seconds later, he showed up in the doorway, a briefcase in his hand and his court robe open. They shared the workroom, and he had his desk standing at the other end of the room. Alexandra ran to hug him and he caught her with one arm. With a groan, he threw the briefcase onto his desk with the other.  
  
“Hi to you, too, Alex,” Voldemort said as his daughter let go of him.  
  
“Dad, when will we have dinner?” she asked,  
  
“When I’ve made it, I guess,” he said, winking at her as he shrugged off the robe, revealing black, tailored trousers and a green T-shirt.   
  
Hermione wouldn’t mind if he had removed the rest of his clothes as well. He was looking absolutely delicious. His dark hair was as stylish and thick as always; his face showed just the right amount of lines; and his firm body had a slight tan due to the visit they had made to the beach the other weekend.  
  
Then again, if she didn’t want her daughter to learn any more bad words, it might be best if she didn’t ravage her husband in front of Alexandra.   
  
“Salazar, it’s hot outside,” Voldemort groaned and threw himself into one of the blue armchairs that was standing in between their desks, against the wall.  
  
“I’ve barely had time to notice,” Hermione replied dryly. “I have had so much to do all day.”  
  
“With a cooling enchantment, no doubt. Some are lucky,” he muttered. “How about you, Alex? Been outside?”  
  
“Yes, Mrs Philips took us to the park,” Alexandra answered, referring to their nanny for the past three years.  
  
“Good. Where’s Althea, then?” he asked.  
  
“I think she went upstairs,” Hermione said.  
  
“Have you told her anything about …?” Voldemort trailed off, making a vague gesture.  
  
Hermione knew that he meant the Hogwarts letter. “No, not yet. I thought we decided to do it at dinner.”  
  
“Tell her what?” Alexandra asked.  
  
“It’s a surprise,” Voldemort said in a low voice, winking to his daughter.  
  
“What is it?” Alexandra asked in an equally low voice.  
  
“You’ll find out at dinner.”  
  
Alexandra pouted. “Tell me now!”  
  
Voldemort chuckled. “Sorry, my treasure, it’s too much fun to see you pout.”  
  
Alexandra stuck her tongue out at him and then marched out of the room.   
  
Hermione frowned at Voldemort. “Was that really necessary? She will no doubt feel jealous when she finds out Althea is going to Hogwarts and she has to wait. Why make it worse?”  
  
Voldemort stood up and walked over to her. “You worry too much, kitten. We’ll simply explain that she’ll have us all to herself then.” He pulled her up from her chair and gave her a long, hard kiss. The kiss was almost harsh, and he held her hair in an almost painful grip.  
  
She recognised that sort of kiss. He was frustrated with her again. Hermione smirked. He must have found out about her project to free the house-elves.   
  
Oops.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort was indeed angry with his wife. However, she had made him promise years ago that they wouldn’t start any arguments with the children around. They would take it in their own bedroom when the children were asleep and couldn’t hear any sounds they made.  
  
Thus, after he had made his feelings known to her, he left to make dinner. About an hour later, the whole family was enjoying baked salmon with rice in their big, bright kitchen. Voldemort had decorated it, making sure he had the equipment he wanted. All of his carefully sharpened knives were attached to a big magnet on the wall behind the kitchen worktop. The drawers were filled by category so he could easily find everything. All of his girls had quickly learned to put everything back in their original spot.  
  
He started calling them “his girls” a few years earlier, since, well, that was what they were. Even though Hermione was far from a girl anymore, she was still young compared to him. But having reached her thirties, she moved and acted with a whole new type of maturity. She was confident in her own body and magic. Thanks to him, obviously. Together, they had explored what she could do, physically as well as magically.  
  
Probably more physically, though.  
  
Voldemort sighed and looked down on his food. This was not the right time to think about shagging her. There were still a few hours before he could do that again.  
  
“And then we went to the park and looked at the ducks in the lake, and we threw some of our sandwiches to them, but then two of the ducks started fighting over it, and they were quacking really loudly, so we left—”   
  
Voldemort was almost impressed by Alexandra’s ability to talk without stopping to breathe. She could get so very excited over the most ridiculous things. When Alexandra finally stopped to put some food in her mouth, Hermione turned to their quieter daughter.   
  
“What did you think of the ducks, Althea?”  
  
Althea shrugged. “They were cute, I guess.”  
  
Unlike her sister, Althea wasn’t very talkative.   
  
“I don’t see why they stay on the ground when they could fly all day long,” Alexandra commented.  
  
“Well, one could guess that they want to stay where the food is,” Voldemort commented with a wink.  
  
“No, flying is funnier than eating,” Alexandra said with conviction.  
  
Voldemort chuckled. It was a good thing they had decided to give Alexandra a broomstick for her birthday next week. Voldemort had been getting quite sick of the constant hints to fly. Ever since Ginevra Potter had taken Alexandra with her on a flying trip, the girl had been longing for her own broom.  
  
“Nuh-uh, cooking is way more fun than flying,” Althea retorted. Althea loved helping her father in the kitchen.  
  
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “You are stupid.”  
  
“ _You_ are stupid,” Althea remarked.  
  
“Girls,” Hermione cut in. “Neither of you is stupid and it’s not nice to lie. Tell each other that you are sorry.”  
  
“Sorry,” the girls muttered in unison.  
  
“Good,” Hermione said. “Now it’s time for Althea’s surprise.”  
  
Althea smiled. Unlike her sister, she was much more patient when it came to finding out things.   
  
Hermione flicked her wand and a letter came flying to Althea. Althea caught the letter and stared at the big, green text. She turned it around and saw the Hogwarts insignia. “It’s from Hogwarts!”  
  
She tore it open. “‘ _Dear Althea Granger-Foster. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.’ I got in!”   
  
“Of course you did,” Voldemort said with a smile. “You are a witch, after all.”  
  
Althea looked at the other piece of parchment and saw a list of books. Her face fell a little. “Mum, these are all the books you have given me and I’ve read them _all_ already.”  
  
“Yes, I asked Headmistress McGonagall for the list earlier. I wanted you both to be prepared,” Hermione said, including Alexandra in the conversation.  
  
Voldemort glanced at his youngest daughter. Alexandra looked like she was feeling a mix of envy and sadness. Voldemort could understand her. Of course she was feeling envious about not going to Hogwarts yet. Hopefully, she would be in a better mood once she got her broomstick. As for the sadness, Voldemort guessed Alexandra was going to miss her sister. For all of their fights, the two sisters did seem to love each other. At least that’s what Hermione had told him.  
  
“But I want to learn new things,” Althea complained.  
  
“You will learn a lot of new things,” Hermione promised. “If you feel like the classes aren’t challenging enough, you have a gigantic library to read your way through.”  
  
The thought of that did seem to lighten Althea’s spirit quite a bit, and after dinner, she and Hermione disappeared upstairs to look at some other books. Alexandra stayed in the kitchen and watched Voldemort spell the dishes clean.  
  
“When will I get to go to Hogwarts?” Alexandra asked after a few minutes of silence.  
  
“When you turn eleven,” Voldemort said, moving the dishes to the cupboards with another flick of his wand.  
  
“What is Hogwarts like?”  
  
“It’s a big castle with lots of classrooms and corridors and hidden passages. Every student gets sorted into a House, and there, you’ll live for seven years,” Voldemort explained.  
  
“What kind of hidden passages?”  
  
“The hidden kind.”  
  
“What do they hide?” Alexandra asked, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.  
  
“What fun would it be if I told you now?” he teased her, wiping the table clean with another flick of his wand.  
  
Alexandra sighed in frustration. “What House will I get sorted into?”  
  
“Whatever House the Sorting Hat chooses to sort you into.”  
  
“What hat?”  
  
“A magical hat which looks into your mind.”  
  
“Ew, I don’t want a hat to look into my mind,” Alexandra said, wrinkling her nose.  
  
“It will be over in a second. It’s only so you’ll get into the same House as others that are like you,” Voldemort explained as he wiped the kitchen counter clean as well.  
  
Alexandra curled her legs up beneath her. “Do you really have to live there?”  
  
“Yes, but you’ll enjoy it. You’ll get to spend time with all of the other students and learn how to do magic.”  
  
Alexandra didn’t look so certain. Voldemort sighed. He didn’t want to worry his daughter, but he had known children who had got terribly homesick at Hogwarts as well. As Head Boy, it had fallen on him to take care of them, something he had hated. However, not as much as he hated to see his daughters cry.  
  
“It will be fine, Alexandra. And you have four years before you have to think about that. Come on, why don’t we go and see what your mother and sister are doing.” He offered her his hand.  
  
Alexandra took it, and together, they walked up the stairs to the library.  
  
Of course Hermione Granger and “Marcus Foster” had a library. It wasn’t as big as Voldemort would have liked and the room was crowded with overstuffed bookcases. But it was cosy with the wooden floor, the smell of books and the navy-blue seating area in the middle of the room.  
  
Husband and wife usually spent their nights in there, and sometimes, like tonight, the girls would join them. Hermione and Althea practised spells together while Alexandra watched and Voldemort read the latest Transfiguration Review. Even though he wasn’t working with the school as much as he used to, he still liked to keep himself updated on the latest developments. This edition also contained a debate contribution by Hermione. She was not impressed by the so-called findings of a fellow Transfiguration Master in the U.S. Voldemort fully agreed with her.  
  
“I think it’s time for bed,” Hermione said a bit after ten o’clock. “Go and brush your teeth.”  
  
“No, I want to stay up and read more!” Althea complained.  
  
Voldemort, however, was ready to have his talk with Hermione. “Do as your mother says,” Voldemort ordered them softly.  
  
He had never used violence against his children. Never even threatened them. But when he ordered them, they did as they were told.  No arguments.  
  
As usual, Althea looked down. “Yes, Dad.” She left the room with her sister in tow.  
  
Hermione stayed in her armchair, an eyebrow raised at him. “Should we take this to our bedroom?”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes darkened. “Yes.”   
  
He was not happy with his wife’s latest stunt and there would undoubtedly be some pretty loud voices.  
  
And some pretty loud make-up sex.  
  
“Let’s make sure the girls are in their beds first,” Hermione said and rose.  
  
Voldemort followed her, feeling the anger from earlier that day returning. He couldn’t believe Hermione was actually fighting for house-elves. Two elderly council members had actually snickered at him for having a wife with such “controversial ideas”. Well, they were old and Merlin knew heart failure was a mortal thing of … “natural causes”.  
  
“Night, Dad,” Althea said as she crawled under the covers of her bed.  
  
“Goodnight,” Voldemort said and closed the door to her room.  
  
Right then, Hermione closed Alexandra’s door. Without a word, they both went to their bedroom across the hall and closed the door carefully.  
  
“House-elves?” Voldemort asked in disbelief. “You are risking our careers for fucking house-elves?!”  
  
Hermione scowled at him. “Don’t be such a drama queen. Your career is not in trouble. I’ve just written an article about the fact that it is slavery, and I started a discussion group.”  
  
“They are elves! Do you call using horses slavery as well?”  
  
“Horses are not the same as elves and you know it. Elves are rational, reasoning creatures. Besides, there are laws against beating your horse, but an elf is seen as your property and you can pretty much kill them without anyone objecting. It’s disgusting and it _is_ slavery!”  
  
“It has been that way for generations. And the elves don’t want to get paid or have free weekends.”  
  
“They don’t know any better,” Hermione hissed. “And it’s bad enough that it has been like this for so long without anyone saying anything. But I won’t stand by and just watch. And neither should you.”  
  
“Oh, don’t pull me into this—”  
  
“It’s good for you, too!” Hermione interrupted him. “If you stand behind me on this, you’ll be seen as a fighter for the weaker groups of society. You’ll be on the good side, which will help you pass those changes you want. I know you have your own agenda, too. This will work, Voldemort. The time is right for the House-Elf Liberation!”  
  
Voldemort couldn’t deny her logic. _If_ it worked. He wasn’t too sure about that. Besides, they were house-elves! He had never liked them. Disgusting creatures, always so eager to please.  
  
Hermione put her hands on his chest and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “I’ve calculated it. Britain is ready for this change. We’ll get a few to start with it, as a good example, showing how easy it is to do. I’ve already talked to a lot of house-elves. They are ready for a small change.”  
  
She pushed open his shirt, but he kept it on, grasping her hands instead.  
  
“You can’t go behind my back like this, kitten,” Voldemort said softly. “We talked about this.”  
  
“I didn’t, per se,” Hermione mumbled. “I wanted to investigate it myself first, so I could build a solid case and convince you I was right. No reason to waste your time with a half-baked idea.”  
  
“You are such a manipulative little kitten,” Voldemort growled. “I think it’s time for another lesson.”  
  
Hermione huffed. “You are one to talk. I know you are doing things behind my back, even if I don’t know what they are.”  
  
“Well, that’s different,” Voldemort stated and started to push her towards the bed. “That’s me.”  
  
She shook her head but let him lead her to the bed. “You are impossible.”  
  
Voldemort just smiled and pushed her down on the bed, still holding her hands. He kissed the top of her right hand and then her left before moving them over her head, tying them there. Hermione let him do it. She had felt the need in him earlier that day. He hated the loss of power when she went behind his back. She knew it. She also knew that he needed to regain the feeling of being in power again, and it was for the best to let him take it back as soon as possible.  
  
It was all about control, she had come to realise during her years with him. He wanted power because it gave him control. To get it, he did whatever he thought was needed to be done. Hermione knew she couldn’t change him, but she was capable of nudging him to the least harmful solution. Like now. If he were in bed with her, then he couldn’t be out killing innocent people.  
  
Of course, Hermione wasn’t a complete altruist. She had become quite addicted to having sex with him, just as he was addicted to her. She didn’t mind having him control her body, making her experience pleasure that made her ears sing. Quite the opposite.  
  
“When both of the girls are at Hogwarts, I think I want you naked all the time,” he said as he banished her clothes with a quick spell.  
  
“I don’t like to be cold,” she remarked.  
  
He sat down on the bed and placed a warm hand on her stomach. “Oh, I think I can find ways to keep your warm. Like in Norway.”  
  
Hermione shuddered in pleasure at the memory. They had spent their anniversary there the year before, in the same fashion as their honeymoon. Naked and fucking all the time.  
  
Voldemort watched her trip down memory lane with amusement as he let his wand dance between his fingers. “But that’s only for good wives. And you have not been a good wife, kitten.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics but didn’t comment.  
  
He held his wand in a tight grip and lay down on the bed next to her. He trailed the wand over her stomach and up between her breasts, moving all the way to her throat. Anticipation rose in her chest, her eyes not leaving his.  
  
She could feel when he entered her mind, finding out what she had done and what her plans with the house-elves were. She didn’t mind giving him the information he wanted.  
  
 _So much work for such_ _silly little creatures_ , his voice sounded in her mind. They had perfected the mind-to-mind talk over the years.  
  
 _Are you going to watch house-elves all day, or are you going to fuck me?_ she responded.   
  
Voldemort left her mind and leaned closer, kissing her thoroughly for several minutes. She was so much into the kiss that she didn’t feel him moving his wand before her whole body began trembling due to a spell.  
  
She recognised it. Voldemort had developed it specifically for her. Since it was his magic doing it, Hermione felt like her entire body was being touched by him, inside and outside. It was enough to have her groaning in pleasure and leave her longing. Because it wasn’t enough. They were just small strokes, not fucking. Therefore, it was agony for her to be bound, unable to grasp him and have her wicked way with him.  
  
It was especially aggravating when he broke the kiss and simply looked at her squirming to get close to him. He smiled fondly. Then, he got off the bed.  
  
Hermione was about to object but stopped when he began to undress. Yes, that was a good dark wizard.   
  
He slowly pushed his still open shirt off, trailing his fingertips against the soft hair on his chest. Hermione licked her lips as he let the shirt fall on the floor. He had such beautiful shoulders, strong and firm muscles, and he was a bit tanned thanks to spending several days in the sun.  
  
His wand was still in his hand, and before he set to work on undoing his trousers, he sent another dose of the spell to Hermione. She moaned as it caressed every fiber of her being, wetness already leaking

between her legs.  
  
Voldemort smiled and stepped out of his trousers and socks. It seemed like he had neglected putting on underwear today. Hermione stared transfixed at his semi-erect cock.  
  
“Now, kitten,” Voldemort purred and came up to the end of the bed. He leaned down and placed his hands on her knees, slowly stroking her legs down to her ankles. “I want you to stay perfectly still…”  
  
Her legs were suddenly tied together. Hermione frowned. That wasn’t good. He couldn’t fuck her if she were on her back with her legs tied together.  
  
“… while I go and take a shower,” Voldemort finished with a sadistic glint in his eyes.  
  
Hermione growled at him. He winked at her before quickly disappearing into the bathroom.   
  
_She was horny,_ _dammit!_  
  
“Come back here!” she shouted, but all she heard was the shower turning on.   
  
She pressed her lips together. Her whole body was tingling with pleasure because of the spell, and it was particularly bad in her sex. She tried to rub her thighs together to ease some of the tension, but it only made things worse. She hit her head against the pillow, groaning. This was slow torture. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch and just couldn’t stop thinking about. She tried to wrestle out of her magical bindings, but they had her sealed to the bed. She could only flex her arms and knees a little.  
  
When he came back ten minutes later, her sex was throbbing with need. She sent him a murderous glare.  
  
“Don’t look like that, kitten,” he purred and unwrapped the towel from his waist. “That was the lesson part. Now comes the let’s-fuck-our-brains-out-while-you-promise-never-to-hide-anything-from-me-again part.”  
  
With a swish of his wand, she was on her stomach; her arms were still tied together, but her legs were free. She shuddered in need. He came up behind her, his hands stroking her back before reaching her hips. With a steady grip, he made her rise to her knees but kept her head down against the pillow. She spread her legs on either side of him before he had a chance to say anything.  
  
Voldemort chuckled, his hands stroking the backs of her thighs all the way down to her knees before he travelled up again. His thumbs started to draw circles on her arse cheeks, slowly coming closer to her sex.  
  
“Fuck, Voldemort,” Hermione groaned, thinking that it was taking too long. “Oi!”  
  
He’d given her a smack on her arse. Not very hard, just enough for her to flinch. She just knew that he was smirking behind her. However, she soon forgot about that when she felt him shift. She was happily surprised when he entered her. It seemed teasing was over.  
  
Voldemort stayed deep inside her for a moment and let out a long moan of pleasure. Hermione concurred.  
  
He was taking this so much better than the last time he had found out about her going behind his back. That had been followed by a sex strike of three days.   
  
He started to thrust in and out of her in short, quick strokes. One of his hands travelled underneath her and he pinched her clitoris lightly. She inhaled sharply due to the spikes of pleasure it sent through her entire body. Her body was so used to this that she climaxed there and then.  
  
Voldemort kept a steady grip of her hips and stayed still until her orgasm had lessened. Then he started to move again. Hermione moved back against him. Merlin, if only she could stay like this forever.   
  
Forever lasted for another half hour until Voldemort came inside her, giving her a third orgasm. When he let go of her hips, her knees finally gave in and she fell down on her stomach in a shuddering mess.  
  
Voldemort slid out of her but embraced her waist and pulled her on her side, spooning her. Hermione could feel him place a kiss on her shoulder and she smiled. She had almost drifted to sleep when his wand came up and released her hands from the binding spell.  
  
“Thanks,” she mumbled, shifting her arms to a more comfortable position.  
  
“Are you happy, Hermione?”   
  
His question took her by surprise.  
  
“Are you beginning to doubt you sexual stamina?” she teased.  
  
He turned her around in his arms, and his hand came up to her cheek. His eyes were clear and serious.  
  
“No. Are you happy? With this life, I mean?”  
  
She arched an eyebrow. “I suppose. I’m not unhappy. Why are you asking?”  
  
“You don’t regret staying with me?”  
  
She snorted. “You didn’t give me a choice, remember?”  
  
His thumb traced her cheekbone. “You could have tried to run. You never did.”  
  
“You would have found me,” she remarked.  
  
“Yes. But still. You hated me.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “Where on earth is this coming from? Do you wish I had run?”  
  
His grip of her head tightened. “No.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
He relaxed his grip a little, and his eyes fell down to her lips. “You will stay with me. No matter what.”  
  
It was a statement, but at the same time, Hermione heard a trace of uncertainty in his voice. If she hadn’t been with him for eight years, she wouldn’t have noticed it. But it was there. He wanted reassurance.  
  
Her hand came up to his head, and she stroked his soft hair. “After everything we have done and shared, how could I leave you?”  
  
He relaxed just a little.  
  
“What are you planning?” Hermione suddenly asked. Just because she wouldn’t leave him didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to stop him from doing something stupid.  
  
He looked into her eyes again, his best innocent look in place.  
  
She huffed. “Oh, no. Tell me what you are planning.”  
  
“One of my former students, Rebecca Shacklebolt, is up for the position as the new Minister of Magic. I’ll make sure she gets the position. And I’ll become her adviser.”  
  
Hermione frowned. She knew he had developed plans for the Ministry for years. Since she had met Rebecca more times than any of his other students, she had guessed it had something to do with her.  
  
Oh, fine, the first time Hermione had seen her, she had become immensely jealous, but that was in the past. When Voldemort had reassured her there was nothing to be jealous of, Hermione had realised there was something else going on.  
  
From Voldemort’s side, that was. Rebecca was clearly in awe of him, and he had her wrapped around his finger. Hermione realised that this would basically mean that Voldemort would control the Ministry.  
  
“What do you plan to do with that power?” she asked.  
  
“Nothing too extreme,” he said vaguely.  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound promising.  
  
“But I will start to spend more time at the Ministry with Rebecca,” he added, clearly wanting to redirect her line of thoughts. “I don’t want the Daily Prophet to start printing rumours about us. Therefore it’s important that you are happy. Noticeable happy.”  
  
Hermione felt a sting in her heart and moved out of his arm. Of course he didn’t care about her well-being. He just wanted her to _look_ happy for outsiders.   
  
“You know, suddenly I’m not happy at all.”  
  
She rolled out of the bed and stalked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. How could one man make her feel so wonderful and then, ten minutes later, make her want to rip out his heart? It was always scheming with him. Always manipulation and appearances. She knew he didn’t love her, but did he have to rub it in like that? And why was she letting him get to her? She knew this was his way of making her focus on something else other than what sort of plan he had for the Ministry. He was playing with her emotions. The worst part was that she was used to it. She had learned to expect it. So, why did it still have to hurt not to be loved?  
  
The handle of the door moved. “Hermione.” He knocked on the door. “Hermione, open up.”  
  
“I’m peeing!” she yelled back.  
  
“No, you aren’t; I would have heard it, then.”  
  
She grimaced at her own reflection in the mirror. “Leave me alone!”  
  
Voldemort, or course, saw that as a challenge. With a spell, he opened the door and stepped inside. “What’s the matter?”  
  
She placed her hands on her hips, staring at him. “You know what it is. You are the most selfish, inconsiderate, tactless man I have ever met!”  
  
He crossed his arms. “You are overreacting, Hermione.”  
  
Her hands turned into fists. “Did I forget to mention stupid?”  
  
He sighed and rolled his eyes, something that made Hermione want to hit him. He must have seen it in her body language, because he quickly stepped up to her and took her hands in his.   
  
“What is it that I’ve done wrong now?” he asked, his voice tired.  
  
“You don’t care one bit about me. It’s always scheming and plotting,” she spat.  
  
“Calm down. You _are_ overreacting,” he said briskly. “Of course I care about you, you infuriating woman. Stop talking nonsense.”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Nothing would get better because she got upset over the fact that he didn’t love her. Again. She knew that he didn’t. She had known it when she promised to spend the rest of her life with him.  
  
It was just hard when he reminded her that he didn’t love her. Liked her, sure. Like a special pet. But not love. Never love.  
  
She took another deep breath, pressing down the feeling of helplessness. It was useless to be upset about it. “You are ten times as infuriating.”  
  
Voldemort’s eyes softened. He reached out and stroked her cheek. He did try to make her comfortable. That was something. It could be much worse. Like a husband who always declared his love but cheated on her. Voldemort was hers, at least.  
  
He pulled her into an embrace. She could feel him embrace her mentally as well. She shifted her thoughts away. There was no use for them to get into another fight where he looked down on love and she had to defend it. They had done it often enough in the past.  
  
 _Show me._   
  
His order echoed in her mind.  
  
Hermione sighed and gave in. She felt him probing. They had done this so often; it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. In a strange way, it felt a little bit like cuddling. His presence inside her was a bit like sex: the slow, soft kind, not the type they had just engaged in.  
  
When he had seen her reasoning, he withdrew with a sigh and put her one arm’s length away from him. “How many times do we have to talk about—”  
  
“I know,” she interrupted, making a grimace. “Love is a stupid, useless feeling that doesn’t change our relationship.”  
  
Voldemort let go of her shoulders. “So, why do you get so upset about it?”  
  
Hermione just glared at him. She had already made so many attempts to explain this to him in the past. He just didn’t get it. He thought she should be sated that he expressed feelings of pleasure and joy with her.  
  
Voldemort grimaced as well. “We have both given up a lot of things to be together. You don’t see me running into the bathroom, sulking.”  
  
“No, you run down to the basement,” she agreed with a snort.  
  
“I don’t sulk.”  
  
“Whatever you want to call it is just fine.”   
  
Sure, he didn’t sulk the same way she did. He liked destroying things when he was upset. That was why she had soundproofed the basement a long time ago.  
  
“Can’t we just have sex again?” he asked with a sigh.   
  
Without waiting for her answer, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the bedroom. She didn’t resist. This was what always happened. Sex didn’t solve their problems, but it was the only way they knew how to ignore them.

 

xxx

  
It was the last week of August, and Harry Potter woke up with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched by someone. At first, he thought it was just one of his many bad dreams playing tricks on him. Then, he saw that a light was on outside the bedroom door. Taking his wand, he got up, shaking the sleepiness from his body. If nothing else, the Auror training had taught him how to quickly become alert, even if there were no danger to speak off.  
  
In fact, Harry was quite sure it was one of the children using the loo. However, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him to check it out.  
  
In the hallway, he saw that the light originated from the living room. Frowning, he made his way down the hall. Perhaps someone forgot to turn off the light?  
  
“Hello again, Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry lowered his wand. “What do you want?”  
  
Morgana looked exactly like she had every other time he had seen her. The pale skin was almost transparent, while her black hair seemed to float around her head.   
  
“We have managed to find a way to break through the curse around yourself and your wife. Will you keep your end of the bargain?”  
  
Harry felt his belly tighten. Even though he had worked hard in the past seven years to find a way to reveal Voldemort without endangering Ginny, he suddenly hesitated. He knew he couldn’t kill Voldemort without risking Hermione’s life. Harry wasn’t sure what Voldemort had done to her, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Voldemort had turned Hermione into a Horcrux or something like that. Those ambiguous vows Voldemort had spoken still echoed in Harry’s ears as clear as if he’d heard them a mere second ago.   
  
However, he did want to stop Voldemort and make sure he couldn’t harm anyone else. The problem was that if Voldemort were taken into custody, Hermione would follow. She had been harbouring a fugitive for seven years. Not to mention that Harry had, to his great horror, realised that Hermione was actually on Voldemort’s side. There was no telling if she had done something to actively support him and he had no idea what she would do if they were to try to arrest Voldemort. Harry knew Hermione wasn’t one to stand by and watch; but even if she did nothing, it was protocol for the Aurors to take anyone who could be working for Voldemort into custody as a precaution. They didn’t want to let a possible Death Eater escape.  
  
Not that Harry thought that she was a Death Eater. No, it was worse than that. Hermione was in every sense of the word Voldemort’s wife. She would be with him through sickness and health. Harry was worried it would mean prison as well. Could he do that to a friend?  
  
But he couldn’t let Voldemort go free. It was his duty as an Auror to prevent crimes and assist in any on-going investigations. Voldemort had so many crimes to answer to that it would probably take years before he could be put on trial. Regardless, the people Voldemort had hurt deserved justice. Harry would just have to do his best to help his friend after their arrest and convince Hermione to leave her husband. That would convince the rest of the world she’d been forced into this situation, like Harry had been. After all, they knew she was a Muggle-born and his best friend, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get people to think she’d been Voldemort’s victim all along.   
  
“Yes, I can assemble a team and take him in tonight,” Harry said.  
  
Morgana, however, shook her head. “Not tonight. It will take us a few more days to undo Tom Riddle’s curse. On the First of September, you will arrest him and Hermione Granger.”  
  
Harry nodded in agreement. It was time.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, lots of hugs and kisses to my awesome betas, Nerys and Shan84! You're better than chocolate.

**Chapter 36**  
  
“Dad, where are my socks?” Althea yelled from upstairs.  
  
“I’m carrying them right now!” Voldemort yelled back as he levitated the heavy hamper with clean clothes up the stairs. “For crying out loud, girl, how many socks do you think you’ll need?”  
  
He walked into her room and dumped the hamper on the floor next to the bed. Althea immediately dove in to find her things.  
  
“Careful with that,” he scolded. “I just ironed them.”  
  
Thankfully, he had put Althea’s things on the top, so she didn’t have to disturb the rest of his neatly ironed clothes.  
  
 _Since when have I started to consider things like this?_ he thought as he helped Althea rearrange her trunk so she could fit everything in it. Who would have guessed Lord Voldemort could become such an expert on domestic chores? Then again, few people appreciated the complicated magic used to take care of the house. But, as always, when it came to magic, Voldemort had mastered and now excelled in it. Thus, Hermione left most of the house-work to him.  
  
“When will Mum be finished in the shower?” Althea asked as they closed her trunk. “We still have to eat breakfast and go through which books I should take with me. I don’t want to be late!”  
  
“It only takes a second to Apparate to King’s Cross Station, and it’s still three hours before the train departures. You won’t be late,” he said, avoiding the other question. The truth was that Hermione was sitting in the shower, crying her eyes out because of Althea’s departure.  
  
Voldemort knew that it was considered normal behaviour for parents to miss their children when they went away, but he found it annoying all the same. Almost all wizarding parents sent their children to Hogwarts or some other magical boarding school. It was just the way things worked. Yet, Hermione behaved as if someone were ripping her baby from her bosom. However, she had said that she didn’t want to alarm Althea by being sad in front of her. Althea seemed to be looking forward to going, and Voldemort wanted her to stay happy. If Althea became sad because she would miss them, the atmosphere at home would become even more irritating.   
  
At least Althea was finished with Muggle School. Just like him, she didn’t see the point of learning a lot of Muggle things when there was magic to be discovered. However, Hermione had wanted her children to know as much as possible about the Muggle world.   
  
“Let’s take this downstairs and I’ll start breakfast,” Voldemort said and flicked his wand at the trunk.  
  
“I can do that!” Althea said and pulled forth her own wand.   
  
It was a ten-and-a-half inch, yew wood wand with a phoenix core, like the one he had had before. Ever since they purchased it three weeks earlier, Althea had wanted to learn every spell there was. She was already quite adept at easy charms, like levitation. Thus, he allowed her to take the trunk downstairs.  
  
He was just finishing with the fried eggs (he was sick of porridge) when Hermione finally joined them, Alexandra in tow. Their youngest daughter looked as if she had just eaten a sour lemon.  
  
“Dad, why can’t I go to Hogwarts?” she asked. “You always say that I’m cleverer than everyone else in school.”  
  
“Unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn’t work like that,” Voldemort explained. “You have to be eleven before you are allowed to start.”  
  
“Why?” Alexandra whined as she sat down at the kitchen table, next to her sister.  
  
“Just one of those silly laws,” Voldemort explained. “Too bad none of us are the Minister. Then we could have changed that.”  
  
For the past two years, he had started to drop hints about what Alexandra could do if she became Minister one day. It was very easy manipulating a child. Then again, he couldn’t see anyone be more fit to become Minister than a child he had raised. He was actually doing the world a favour.  
  
“Have you packed all of your things?” Hermione asked Althea, eyeing the trunk in the hallway as she sat down.  
  
Althea nodded. “I just have to pick out the books I want to read on the train. Tell me what will happen when I get to Hogwarts!”  
  
Hermione started to explain everything about the train ride, the sorting and the feast. Voldemort served them all the fried eggs with bacon and toast. He gave Alexandra some extra eggs, since he knew she liked them and he wanted her to stop sulking. It didn’t seem to work, though. Voldemort took his own plate and sat down next to her.  
  
“After we have put Althea on the train, we can do something you want,” he said to Alexandra in a low voice. “How about the zoo? We could see if they have any new serpents and monkeys.”  
  
For some strange reason, Alexandra liked to look at the monkeys just as much as she liked to look at the snakes in the zoo. Voldemort assumed it was Hermione’s bad influence. However, the prospect of going to the zoo seemed to brighten her up.  
  
“Will we have ice cream?” Alexandra asked.   
  
Both Alexandra and Althea had inherited their father’s love for ice cream.  
  
“Of course,” Voldemort promised. Although he hated all the Muggles at the zoo, the ice cream was delicious enough to stand it.  
  
After that, Alexandra was in a much better mood and ate her breakfast with vigour. She even joined in the conversation and asked Hermione a few questions about Hogwarts. Voldemort was content with just listening, and when they were all done with breakfast, he cleaned up, letting Hermione spend time with Althea.   
  
At half past ten, the entire family Apparated to King’s Cross. Voldemort and Hermione had decided to Apparate outside the train station, so Althea got to experience of going into Platform 9 ¾. She did so very eagerly and was jumping with glee when they met her on the other side.  
  
“How is that possible?” she asked.  
  
“It’s very complex spell work,” Voldemort began to explain, but Hermione took his hand, looking mildly amused.  
  
“I think it’s better if we try to find Althea a place to sit first, dear,” she said. “We don’t want to block the entrance.”  
  
Voldemort sighed but nodded. The platform was just like he remembered, filled with people, animals and noises. Hardly a place for a lesson in magic. She would be going to Hogwarts now, anyway. She would probably stake out the library first thing tomorrow morning and find the answer herself.  
  
He would “miss” his daughter, in his own special way. Despite what he had said about wanting to have Hermione all to himself, he would miss having his oldest daughter around, asking him for information and staring at him with awe every time he performed complicated magic. She was also very entertaining to spend time with. It would be so much harder to make her think and behave the right way when he wasn’t there to control her.   
  
He could suddenly understand why Hermione, who was a hundred times more emotional than him, had been crying the whole night. As he looked around at the other parents in the crowd, he could see the same fake smile that Hermione was carrying on a lot of them. It seemed that most parents were going to miss their children.  
  
They boarded the train, with Voldemort levitating Althea’s trunk in front of him.  
  
“How long will the trip take?” Althea asked when they placed her trunk into an empty compartment. Some of her cheerfulness had been replaced with clear signs of nervousness.   
  
“The entire day,” Voldemort said. “So you can spend that time reading.”  
  
“If you feel like it, you can also introduce yourself to someone,” Hermione commented. “Or, if someone comes by, you can offer them a seat in here. I spent my first train ride with Neville. You remember, the man who was helping me in the garden last summer? After all this time, we’re still friends.”  
  
“Okay.”   
  
Althea didn’t look all that excited anymore. She had never been much for socialising, having always been more comfortable with her books. The only other children Voldemort had seen her play with were the Weasley children and Alexandra. Hermione was worried about her lack of friends, but Althea didn’t seem too bothered about it. Voldemort was more concerned that she wasn’t trying to make connections, which he could use later in life.  
  
Voldemort sat down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You will no doubt meet some people you’ll like at Hogwarts.”  
  
“Just be yourself,” Hermione added. “Don’t be afraid.”  
  
“I’m not afraid,” Althea objected.   
  
However, she did look a bit uneasy. Voldemort guessed it was finally hitting her that she was actually leaving her family.  
  
Alexandra, who had been standing quietly next to Voldemort, stepped forward and held out something for Althea. “You can have this. I made it.”  
  
It was a twined bracelet in purple and red wool. “Sabina, from my class, showed me how to make them,” Alexandra explained. “They’re called friendship bracelets. I have made one for myself, and got the others from my friends.” She pulled up her sleeve, showing a matching bracelet as well as three others in green, pink and yellow.  
  
“Thanks,” Althea said and slid the bracelet onto her small wrist.  
  
Voldemort glanced at his watch. It was already ten to eleven. “We have to get off the train now, unless we want to go to Hogwarts as well.”  
  
“I want to go to Hogwarts!” Alexandra commented.  
  
“You aren’t old enough, sweetie,” Hermione said and kissed her head. “You’ll get to join Althea soon enough, though.”  
  
Alexandra sighed but didn’t argue further.  
  
Voldemort pulled out a small purse and handed it to Althea. “Here is your allowance for the next few months. Don’t spend it all on candy.”  
  
Althea opened the purse and looked a bit happier when she saw how much money it contained. Voldemort leaned down and gave his daughter a hug. “Don’t forget to eat your lunch. It’s in the paper bag in your backpack.”  
  
“Yes, Dad,” Althea said.  
  
He ruffled her hair. “Write to us if you need anything.”  
  
Althea nodded and then turned to Hermione, who leaned in and hugged her as well. Voldemort could see that Hermione was close to tears again.  
  
“Take care, love,” Hermione whispered. “Time will fly when you are at Hogwarts, you’ll see. Before you know it, it will be time to come home again.”  
  
“Mhm,” Althea murmured. The extra hard hug suggested that she would miss her mother.  
  
Voldemort felt rather uncomfortable as he led his wife out. Not only did he become uncomfortable because of Hermione’s emotional state, but there was something else. Something felt … wrong. It wasn’t just that he would miss his daughter, but he had the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something.  
  
As they saw the train roll out from the station, the feeling of wrongness increased. He started feeling paranoid. He glanced around, trying to see if anyone looked suspicious. All he could see were parents and siblings waving at the train or leaving the platform, either by foot or by Apparition. There were all kinds of people. Minister workers, Healers and shop workers, they were all at the same place now because they had sex twelve to eighteen years ago.  
  
Or not everyone.   
  
Voldemort recognised Harry Potter walking towards the exit. He must have taken his godson, Theodore Lupin, to the train.   
  
_Or?_   
  
Something in the way Potter moved made Voldemort suspicious. He knew his old enemy well enough to see when the other man was on edge. Still, it could be because of anything. Potter was an Auror after all.  
  
“Mum, why are you crying?”   
  
Alexandra’s question made Voldemort turn his attention back to his family.  
  
Hermione wiped her eyes with a transfigured napkin. “It’s just hard letting your children go, Alex. But don’t worry. We’ll have a great day at the zoo.”  
  
Alexandra and Hermione continued talking, but Voldemort didn’t listen. He was too busy worrying about the alarm bells going off in his head. He was missing something. Forgetting something important.  
  
Suddenly, twenty wizards surrounded them, their wands raised. At the same time, Voldemort realised one thing:  “Letting your children go” was another way of saying that you’d given up your claim. Voldemort had already given up his claim of Althea when he got his new body. He had given it up to the fairies and now Hermione—   
  
Hermione!  
  
However, in the split second it took him to realise what was going on, no less than ten separate spells had been cast towards him. He drew his wand and deflected seven, but the other three hit him, causing his wand fly out of his hand before he lost consciousness.

 

xxx

  
“Marcus!” Hermione cried and tried to run to her husband.   
  
Alas, two Aurors grabbed her and took her wand before she managed to take one step towards him. Another Auror took a hold of Alexandra and tried to move her away from her mother; however, Alexandra kicked her leg and bit her hand, so the Auror lost her grip of the girl.  
  
“Mummy!” Alexandra cried and threw herself around Hermione’s leg.  
  
Despite being held still, Hermione managed to stroke her hair, while looking around and trying to figure out what was going on. Harry Potter stepped forward, answering her question before she had time to ask it out loud.   
  
“Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger, I’m hereby placing you under arrest for crimes against the wizarding world.”  
  
“Harry?” Hermione asked, staring at Harry in disbelief. “What are you doing?”  
  
Pain was evident in Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but you have been harbouring a fugitive and possibly conspiring with him. We have to take you in as well.”  
  
“What—?” she stopped herself. Harry was able to tell the truth about Voldemort. He must have found a way to break the curse. No way would he ever risk Ginny’s life just to capture Voldemort.  
  
But how could he have broken it? The only way out of that curse was through the death of the caster, and Harry couldn’t do anything to hurt Voldemort. Could he?   
  
Hermione looked back at her husband’s lifeless body. Was he dead? Panic started to rise inside her. He couldn’t be dead!   
  
Then, she saw an Auror put handcuffs on his wrists and immediately calmed down. They wouldn’t have bothered to put handcuffs on him if he were dead.  
  
So, how had the spell been broken?   
  
She looked around. All of these Aurors … Harry must have broken the spell some time ago if he’d managed to gather all these people. But why had he arrested them here and not at home?  
  
“That girl has to be taken elsewhere,” one of the Aurors holding Hermione said, interrupting her line of thinking.  
  
“What?” Hermione asked, outraged. “No one will take my daughter anywhere!”  
  
“Mum,” Alexandra whined and tightened her grip on her mother’s leg as the female Auror tried to move her.   
  
Hermione pulled her daughter’s head closer to her body and looked at Harry in desperation. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, getting a strong feeling that something else was going on.  
  
“Voldemort has committed many crimes, Hermione! He has to be taken in and face justice,” Harry answered. “I was lucky and got help to break free from his curse from someone else who knows who he really is. But who knows how many others are suffering from the things he’s still doing? I can’t let it pass.”  
  
Hermione gaped. This was serious. If Voldemort faced justice, people would scream for his execution. She would have to deny it! Another thought hit her. Who could have helped Harry? Harry couldn’t have talked about it, and there was no way to break the curse beforehand.  
  
At least no human way.  
  
“Fairies,” Hermione whispered, turning white. They were going after Althea! She began struggling against the Aurors who held her. “Let me go! Let me go! I have to get to Althea! Harry! We have to get Althea; they are going after her! Let me go!”  
  
“Mum!” Alexandra cried again as the Auror finally managed to pull her away from her mother. Alexandra began screaming in outrage.  
  
“No! Alex!” Hermione screamed and felt her magic surge within her body. In the next moment, the Auror on her right was blown away from her. She stretched her hand out towards her daughter. “Give me back my daughter!”  
  
The Auror who had been standing on her left side took a hold of both her arms, twisting them behind her back. Hermione screamed and wrestled against the Auror. She had to get to her daughters! She couldn’t let these people take Alexandra, and she had to go and look for Althea. If the fairies got her, there was no telling what they would do.  
  
“Someone knock her out!” the Auror holding Hermione roared.  
  
The last thing Hermione heard was Harry muttering an apology before he raised his wand, sending her into unconsciousness.

 

xxx

  
Once the train had left King’s Cross, Althea couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore. Even though she wanted to learn new things, she would really miss her family.  
  
It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable being on her own; it was just unnerving not seeing her family every day. Her mother had told her that she would get a new family at Hogwarts, but she didn’t _want_ a new family. Especially not with children her own age. They were so stupid.  
  
The only thing she did look forward to was learning magic. She wanted to know all the magic her parents knew, and more. There was nothing she loved more than learning new things. Though, she hoped it wouldn’t be like in her Muggle school. There, they had been listening to the same things over and over again. They’d been reading the same book and doing the same type of math problem for over a month before going over to new things. She hoped Hogwarts wouldn’t be slow like that.  
  
Although, at least she would have the library to take refuge in if the classes were slow. Her parents had told her it contained a lot of books she had never even heard about. She looked forward to that. She loved reading.  
  
Reading was exactly what she was doing two hours later when she saw people moving outside the window to her compartment. She glanced up and went pale when she recognised the boy outside. As her father would have said: Fuck.  
  
Althea quickly looked down at the book again, hoping the boy outside the window wouldn’t see her. Of course, she wasn’t that lucky. The next moment, she heard the compartment door open and she reluctantly looked up.  
  
Three people entered. Ted Lupin was one of them, looking just as confident and superior as a twelve-year-old could when standing in front of an eleven-year-old.   
  
“Granger.”  
  
“Granger-Foster,” Althea corrected him before she could stop herself. Then, she blushed for pointing out something so silly. Then, she cursed herself for blushing. Now he would say something mean to her again.  
  
Ever since she had made the mistake of accepting Victoire’s challenge at the Burrow’s Christmas party last year, he had bullied her like crazy. Victoire had told Althea to kiss Lupin under the mistletoe. Althea had never kissed anyone before; but everyone who did it seemed to like it, so she had wanted to test it as well. Lupin had been shocked and then started to laugh at her.  
  
“Whatever,” Lupin said, rolling his blue eyes. “This is the girl I told you about.”  
  
Althea paled, glancing at the two other boys. They looked exactly the same, from the curly, brown hair and stupid freckles down to the unpleasant smiles on their faces. Already she was quite sure she would come to dislike them profoundly.  
  
“Eew, did she really kiss you last Christmas?” the boy on the right asked.  
  
Lupin nodded, looking disgusted and smug at the same time. Althea pressed her lips together in shame and anger.  
  
“What was it like?” the boy on the left asked.  
  
“Tasted like pig,” Lupin said, looking straight at Althea.  
  
“You’re a pig,” Althea retorted, clenching her hands.  
  
“Whatever,” Lupin said and rolled his eyes, which were now green. Slowly, his hair turned from brown to blond.  
  
The three boys began laughing and turned to leave the compartment. However, before they managed to step outside, the glass in the compartment door exploded, glass flying into the corridor of the train. The three boys spun around and looked at her, eyes wide in fear and surprise.  
  
“Freak!” Lupin shouted before the three boys ran out of the compartment.  
  
Althea groaned in frustration. She should have known that kissing Lupin was a bad idea, but her parents seemed to enjoy it so much. Althea had wanted to try, too! Why had she taken the challenge from Victoire? Now she would never get a quiet moment at Hogwarts. They would tease her all the time.  
  
“Althea.” The whisper snapped Althea out of her depressing thoughts.  
  
“Morgana?” Althea asked, feeling happy at once.  
  
Morgana was her oldest and sometimes only friend. For as long as Althea could remember, Morgana had been there, ready to appear if she felt angry or sad and no one else was around to comfort her. Sometimes, she came when Althea was just bored.  
  
The woman became visible in front of her, as if she had been there the entire time. She looked as Althea remembered her, even though it had been a while since she had last seen her. For some reason, Morgana never visited her at home or when she was with others. The last time the fairy had showed up had been a year earlier when Althea had been in the forest alone.  
  
“So this is the Hogwarts Express,” Morgana commented, looking around the compartment. When her eyes fell on the broken glass on the floor, her expression turned worried. “What happened?”  
  
Althea grimaced and took out her wand, repairing the window. “Some mean boys.”  
  
Morgana sighed. “The world seems to be filled with them. Did they hurt you?”  
  
Althea shook her head. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I’ve come to say goodbye,” Morgana answered, her expression turning sad.  
  
“Goodbye?” Althea asked, surprised.  
  
Morgana nodded. “I won’t be able to reach you once you are inside Hogwarts.”  
  
Althea’s mood sank. For a moment, she had hoped that she would have had at least someone to talk to inside Hogwarts.  
  
“How come?” Althea asked.  
  
“The magic surrounding the castle won’t allow me in. It’s a shame. Now that you have a wand, I would’ve been able to teach you all sorts of magic, more than you’ll ever learn at Hogwarts,” Morgana explained, sounding bitter.  
  
Althea’s mood sank even lower. She had always wanted to find out how Morgana did her magic. It wasn’t the same way Althea’s parents did magic, and it made her curious.  
  
“Isn’t there any way we can meet?” Althea tried.  
  
“No, I’m afraid not, unless …?” Morgana trailed off, hesitating.  
  
“Unless, what?”  
  
Morgana shook her head, smiling as if what she had been thinking was silly. “Nothing.”  
  
“What?” Althea asked, eager.  
  
“Well, if you don’t go to Hogwarts, then I would be able to teach you everything I know, but …” Morgana trailed off, shrugging.  
  
Althea studied her old friend. “Where would I go if I wasn’t going to Hogwarts?”  
  
“Home with me, and others like me. But then you wouldn’t meet any of the other students at Hogwarts.”  
  
Althea scoffed. That was hardly a loss. “What would I do with you?”  
  
“Learn magic,” Morgana explained. “It wouldn’t be the same as Hogwarts, though. We know much more magic, but we don’t have the structure with homework and tests and such things.”  
  
No homework?   
  
Well, that was something she liked. She had never seen the point of homework. Why did she have to prove that she had learned something easy all the time? She knew it and could use the knowledge; wasn’t that enough?  
  
“Besides,” Morgana said, “if you come with us, you could help us.”  
  
Althea arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Why would you need me?”  
  
“We are trapped,” Morgana said in a low voice, her eyes sad. “We need you to help free us.”  
  
“But how can you be trapped if you are here?” Althea wondered.  
  
Morgana brought her hand up to Althea’s face. When Morgana tried to touch her, her hand went through Althea.  
  
“I’m not really here. I can show myself to people who are worthy, but for over a thousand years, I haven’t been able to move in this world like you can. But with your help, my family and I can break free from the spell that the evil wizard cast over us.”  
  
“How can I help? I don’t know that much about magic yet, and you seem to know so much.”  
  
“We will teach you. We will teach you so much more than the people at Hogwarts ever could. Wouldn’t that be fun?”  
  
Althea nodded slowly. Perhaps she would finally get to learn things at her own pace. And no homework!  
  
“But I’m already on my way to Hogwarts, how will I get to where you’ll teach me?” she asked.  
  
Morgana held out her hand. “If you really want to, you’ll be able to touch my hand. Focus on what you want.”  
  
Althea looked up at the woman’s face. It wasn’t just that it sounded fun; Morgana had always been there for her in the past. The least Althea could do was spend some time with her in order to help her and her family.  
  
Her mind set, Althea took Morgana’s hand, which became solid the moment they touched. Morgana smiled, and then, they disappeared.  
  


 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to express my deepest thanks to Shan84 and Nerys for the hard work they do on betaing this story. It wouldn't even be half as good without their comments and suggestions.

 

 **Chapter 37**  
  
When Hermione regained consciousness, she was lying on a bunk in a grey cell. She looked around, confused. How did she get here?  
  
Then the memories of what had transpired at King’s Cross came back to her. She flew off the bunk and threw herself at the door.   
  
“Hello? Is anyone there? Give me back my children! I have to make sure Althea is safe!”  
  
She had been banging on the door for a few minutes when it was finally opened by Harry. His expression was pained.   
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Where are my children?” she demanded.  
  
Harry wouldn’t meet her eyes. It reminded her of when they had been at Hogwarts, and he’d had to confess to her that he had made a mistake or done something she’d disagreed with.  
  
“I called Ginny to look after Alexandra. I thought a familiar face might calm her. They are still at the Ministry …” Harry trailed off.  
  
“And where is Althea?” Hermione asked; her jaw clenched.  
  
Harry raked his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was nervous. “We don’t know.”  
  
Hermione stopped breathing. The fairies had taken her. The fairies had taken her daughter. Her daughter was with the fairies and there was no telling what they would do.  
  
She sank to the floor, still struggling to breathe. Harry rushed forward, capturing her before she hit the floor.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Hermione, I had no idea—”  
  
That made her snap out of it. With all the force she could muster, she threw her fist into Harry’s face, causing him to stagger away from her. His glasses flew off, landing on the floor, breaking with a satisfying crunch.  
  
Another Auror Hermione hadn’t even noticed before hurried into the cell and forced her down onto the ground. She ignored the pain of landing on the ground, or how much her fist throbbed. All she could think about was hurting Harry for helping the fairies kidnap Althea.  
  
Harry fumbled around for his glasses and then repaired them with a quick spell. A spell she had taught him. How could Harry do this to her after everything she had done for him? How could he betray her like this? If he had just listened to her and gone to get Althea when she’d told him, the fairies wouldn’t have had time to kidnap her!  
  
“Should I restrain her, sir?” the other Auror asked Harry.  
  
“No, it’s okay. You can wait outside.”  
  
“But sir, hitting an Auror is—”  
  
“I know,” Harry interrupted quickly. “Now let her go and wait outside. That’s an order.”  
  
The Auror reluctantly left, closing the cell door behind him. Hermione rose again, staring at Harry with hatred.  
  
“You have to believe me, Hermione. I had no idea Althea was at risk,” Harry said, his voice weak.  
  
“You fucking stupid arse,” Hermione growled. She wanted to hit him again but managed to keep her temper in check. “You haven’t changed one bit. This is just like our fifth year when Sirius died because you rushed in without thinking.”  
  
Harry winced, but then, he finally managed to look her straight in the eyes. “Voldemort had to be taken in, Hermione. You know that. When I saw an opportunity to get rid of the curse, I took it. I had to save everyone from him. I had to save you!”  
  
“And did it ever occur to you that perhaps I didn’t need or want saving?” she spat.  
  
“You are married to Voldemort!” Harry exclaimed. “You can’t tell me you are happy about that.”  
  
Hermione was just about to tell him exactly what she thought about it when she began coughing. The spell preventing her from revealing Voldemort had kicked in. That was when she realised where she was. It wasn’t just her daughter who was in trouble; her husband was, too. She couldn’t admit to knowing that he was Voldemort. Instead, she improvised.  
  
“Married to Voldemort?” she asked, acting shocked. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Harry?”  
  
Harry stared at her in disbelief. “Hermione, this is your way out, away from him.”  
  
“I have nothing to get away from,” Hermione answered, turning serious. “Why do you think that I’m married to Voldemort?”  
  
“Marcus is Voldemort!” Harry growled. “You know it, Hermione. We’ve talked about it. You’ve come to me crying several times when you were fed up with him.”  
  
Hermione just shook her head. “Harry, how on earth could Marcus be Voldemort? Listen to yourself. Someone is playing with your mind. And it got my daughter kidnapped! You have to let us go.”  
  
Harry looked angry and desperate. “Has he cast some spell over you, too, so you can’t tell us the truth? We can break it, don’t worry, we have a device that cleanses all active magical spells upon a person. We’ll get that for you.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t too worried about that. Even if they did somehow manage to break Voldemort’s curse, she had learned enough Occlumency to keep lying. What she was worried about was her daughter.  
  
“Dammit Harry! Stop obsessing over my husband. Do you realise that your delusions about him is why my daughter is missing? You already have him locked up, and I’m sure someone will soon see what a big fuck up you have made, but what about Althea?” she asked again. “You have to send someone to look for her!”  
  
“We have,” Harry replied, “but nothing has come up.”  
  
“Where have you looked? Was there any sign of a struggle on the train?” Hermione asked. “I know the Ministry has special ways of finding underage witches and wizards.”  
  
“We are looking into all possibilities. But the Ministry can’t find her until she tries to use magic, and so far, she hasn’t. However, we couldn’t find her wand on the train, so if she tries to use magic, we’ll go to the location at once; trust me,” Harry said.   
  
However, she realised she couldn’t trust him.  
  
If the fairies were in contact with Harry, then they could have brainwashed him the same way they had done to Ron. She didn’t think it would be that hard for the fairies to convince Harry that Althea was better off without them, away from Voldemort. She and Voldemort had to get out of here and look for Althea themselves.  
  
Someone knocked on the door to the cell. Harry scowled and went to the door, throwing it open. Before he had time to say anything, a small flash of long, dark hair rushed into the cell, heading straight towards Hermione.  
  
“Mummy!” Alexandra cried, throwing herself at her mother.  
  
Hermione caught her, hugging Alexandra tightly against her chest, relieved that at least one of her children was safe.  
  
“Why did you bring her here?” Harry asked the guard, confused.  
  
“She was crying and had a magical tantrum,” the guard answered, sounding tired. “It didn’t stop until your wife promised that she could see her mother.”  
  
Hermione held back a snort. Just like with other magical children, Alexandra did unintentional magic whenever she felt something very strongly. The difference was that she managed to create a lot more problems than other children. At their home, Voldemort and Hermione had found ways to prevent the destruction she could cause. She wasn’t surprised that the Aurors didn’t know how to handle it.  
  
“Have you managed to contact anyone who can take care of her?” Harry asked. He’d lowered his voice, but Hermione could still hear him.  
  
Hermione tensed and started to stroke the sobbing girl’s back. If she couldn’t trust Harry to look for Althea, then she could hardly trust him to protect Alexandra. The fairies had tried to kill her when she was still a foetus! Who knew what they could make Harry do to her?  
  
“I don’t know yet. But _he_ contacted someone,” the Auror said.   
  
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Voldemort had men on the inside; surely one of them could get them out fast?  
  
“What?” Harry asked, angry. “I thought I gave orders that no one was allowed to see him.”  
  
“Well, it’s not so easy when the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot comes in person with a contra-order,” the Auror mumbled.  
  
Harry cursed and dragged the Auror out, shutting and locking the door behind them. The moment they were gone, Alexandra finally loosened her tight grip on Hermione’s neck and leaned back.  
  
“Mum, what’s going on? Why are you and Dad here? Where is Althea?”  
  
Hermione wiped her daughter’s wet cheeks with the hem of her shirt. “There has been some sort of mistake. They think that your dad and I have done something bad, but we haven’t. We just have to stay here a little longer to clear it all up. And Althea … well, don’t worry about Althea,   
Dad and I will take care of it when we get out, okay?”  
  
Trust shone through Alexandra’s eyes as she leaned in to hug her mother again. Hermione kissed the top of her head. It was good that Alexandra trusted and believed her, even when Hermione didn’t believe herself. She would do her best, but for the first time since she had her children, the thought of losing one of them made her scared to death.

 

xxx

  
“Elliot, this is ridiculous. How on earth could I be You-Know-Who?” Voldemort asked, running a hand through his hair while looking at the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Elliot Handel. The Warlock had ordered the Aurors to let him talk to Voldemort alone, which Voldemort was more than happy about.  
  
“Mr Potter ordered your arrest this morning. I don’t know what evidence he has, but he wouldn’t have been able to go through with it if he didn’t have something to support his claims,” Handel said, though Voldemort could see that he doubted Potter’s claim.  
  
“Harry must have been hoodwinked somehow,” Voldemort said. “For Merlin’s sake, I’m married to his best friend who helped him bring down You-Know-Who. Why would she have married me if I were him?”  
  
“From what I’ve heard, you are supposed to have held her against her will,” Handel said, fidgeting with the sleeve of his long, purple robe. It was a sign that he was uncomfortable.  
  
“That’s outrageous! I would never hurt my wife. I love her more than anything!” Voldemort lied, ensuring he looked very offended. “Does she look like she is being held captive by a homicidal lunatic? She is such a powerful and resourceful witch; there is no way anyone can hold her against her will. Don’t you remember what happened when Malfoy tried?”  
  
Handel lowered his head. “No, that doesn’t seem very likely. I have no idea what has got into Mr Potter; he was so certain …”  
  
Voldemort massaged his temples. He knew it was the fairies’ fault, but he couldn’t tell them that. If they found out the fairies were involved, then there was a small risk they would figure out that he was indeed Voldemort and had got this body with fairy magic. Therefore, he had to place the blame somewhere else.  
  
“What if You-Know-Who is trying to get to Hermione by framing me?” he asked out loud, making sure his tone sounded worried. “I mean, after everything she did to stop him, he would want revenge. What if he has cast some sort of spell on Harry to make him think I’m You-Know-Who?”  
  
Handel brought a hand to his mouth, looking horrified.  
  
“But I’m surprised the Aurors don’t have better protection against things like this,” Voldemort added darkly. “They should have a system in place to alert them in case an Auror has been compromised.”  
  
“We will have to look into that,” Handel said, his voice uncertain.  
  
“And why did they have to use so much force when they arrested me? For Merlin’s sake, my daughter was there! How is Alexandra taking this? Is anyone taking care of her? She must be scared!” Voldemort continued ranting, making his best impression of a concerned father.  
  
“Last I heard, Mrs Potter was taking care of your daughter,” Handel answered. “And as I understand it, they didn’t want to risk letting you get away. They do still believe you are He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”  
  
“Just because of something Potter said!” Voldemort cried. “This whole mess shouldn’t have been allowed to happen.”  
  
“As I said, we will look into it once we have got you and your wife out,” Handel said weakly.  
  
Voldemort suppressed a smirk. Handel had been the one to promote Potter as Head of the Aurors. This would reflect badly on Handel if the man weren’t careful. Just like any high-ranking Ministry Official, he was always worried about his image.  
  
“Well, I’ll make sure everyone finds out about this when I get out, so it can’t happen again,” Voldemort growled.  
  
A flash of alarm went through Handel’s eyes. “Don’t you think we can keep this, er, internal, Marcus? If Mr Potter has been compromised, it will make people panic. Surely we wouldn’t want that.”  
  
“All I want is to be with my wife and children!” Voldemort cried. “Instead, I’m sitting here for something I know I didn’t do. These things aren’t supposed to happen to honest citizens!”  
  
Handel cleared his throat, looking worried. “Yes, I agree that it’s very unfortunate, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to stay here for too long. I’m certain that once the first interrogations have been conducted, you and your wife can stay in a cell together, under observation of course.”  
  
“As much as I appreciate that, surely they can’t keep us overnight?” Voldemort said, pleased that his manipulations on the Warlock had worked.  
  
“This case is already a nightmare. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay for at least one night,” Handel said and squeezed Voldemort’s shoulder. “But I’ll see what I can do, Marcus.”  
  
Voldemort just nodded, burrowing his face in his hands as Handel left. At least that was one problem out of the way. Handel didn’t believe he was Voldemort, and being the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he would be able to convince more people that it was Potter who had made a mistake. Not that it would have been too hard to do that anyway. After all, where was the proof? He was inside an interrogation room where every magical enchantment or disguise was stripped away, so they knew these were his real looks. They had checked his wand as well, but he wasn’t so foolish that he used his old wand when he was acting like Marcus.  
  
Voldemort wasn’t surprised when Potter entered the interrogation room fifteen minutes later. What surprised him was the bruise beginning to form around his left eye. He was quite certain that was thanks to Hermione, and that thought made him all warm and fluffy on the inside. He had trained his kitten well.  
  
“What did you do to trick Warlock Handel into believing you aren’t Lord Voldemort?” Potter asked, cutting to the chase, as always. The boy had no finesse whatsoever.  
  
Voldemort made himself flinch at the name. “Harry, I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why do you think I’m You-Know-Who?”  
  
“Don’t play games with me,” Potter growled. “I broke free from your curse. I’ve told everyone who you really are. You aren’t getting away this time.”  
  
Voldemort just stared at him in disbelief. “This isn’t you, Harry. What happened? We have been friends for years now. You know me. How could I be You-Know-Who?”  
  
Potter threw his fist on the table and rose. “You aren’t fooling anyone, Voldemort. Just drop the act.”  
  
It was fun to watch the boy become so frustrated. Voldemort just had to continue to play clueless, and then, an attorney would get him out of here. Once Ken Mizuro arrived, Voldemort would tell him to contact his attorney.  
  
“Harry—” Voldemort began, but he was interrupted by the door opening.  
  
Potter turned around, looking annoyed. “What?”  
  
“Warlock Handel is back, sir,” a young redhead said, sounding uncertain.  
  
Potter scowled but left nevertheless. A few minutes later, he returned, followed by none other than Ken Mizuro.  
  
“You have five minutes,” Potter said, not looking happy but leaving them alone anyway.  
  
Mizuro arched an eyebrow at Voldemort. “They think you are You-Know-Who?”  
  
Voldemort nodded. If they had been alone, they would have both started laughing. However, he didn’t doubt the Aurors were right outside the enchanted wall, listening in on their conversation, and thus, his act had to remain intact.  
  
“Are all British Aurors incompetent?” Mizuro asked.  
  
“I would hope not,” Voldemort muttered. “But now, with things the way they are, I could use your help.”  
  
Mizuro nodded.   
  
They both knew it was not a request. Even though Mizuro was a very powerful and ambitious wizard, he acknowledged Voldemort’s authority. He was even one of the few who knew about his true identity. Voldemort knew his darkest secrets, so he was comfortable telling Mizuro a few of his own. It was a great way to establish power over a person. That, and magical bounds which made sure the other person couldn’t tell anyone the secrets you told them.  
  
“I think we’ll need an attorney,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “I have no idea what is going on here, but if it’s some sort of conspiracy, I want legal aid so it doesn’t get worse. Also, I need you to make sure my daughters are safe. Take care of Alexandra until Hermione or I get out, and contact Althea at Hogwarts. I don’t want her to find out about this by reading it in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. If she has already found out about our arrest, make sure she doesn’t worry.”  
  
Since no one had told him Althea was missing yet, he couldn’t act worried. But he wanted Mizuro to figure out Althea was missing as soon as possible. When he did, Mizuro would know to look for her. Voldemort didn’t have to tell the other man about the fairies. If Althea could be found by normal means, Mizuro would find her. If he couldn’t, then Voldemort needed to get out of here to look for Althea himself. However, he wanted to keep his cover for as long as he could. He was comfortable as Marcus Foster and did not want to lose the power base that he had established. Although he didn’t want to lose his daughter to the fairies either, he didn’t think the fairies could do that much damage in just a couple of days.  
  
Potter entered the room again, not looking angry anymore.  
  
Voldemort rose. “Is Alexandra still in the building?”  
  
Potter just nodded.  
  
“If Hermione approves, then Ken has agreed to take care of her,” Voldemort said, certain that Hermione would approve but wanting to appear as if his wife’s opinion mattered a lot to him.  
  
“Fine,” Potter said, sounding pleased over something. “Two of my colleagues are going to interrogate you now. I suggest you start confessing.”  
  
“I have nothing to confess,” Voldemort said, throwing his hands up in annoyance.  
  
“We’ll see,” Potter said, almost looking smug.  
  
Oh, great, they were going to use Veritaserum on him now. Voldemort mentally rolled his eyes. Like that would have any effect. However, Voldemort could use the entertainment of putting on a show until he could see Hermione again. If Warlock Handel knew what was good for him, he would make sure Voldemort and Hermione shared a cell once night time fell.  
  
Two Aurors Voldemort had got to know as Sabin and Rochester entered the room. Sabin was carrying a small glass vial filled with a transparent liquid in one hand. She placed it on the table in front of him before transfiguring a chair from thin air to sit down on. Rochester took the chair already standing at the opposite side of Voldemort. He cleared his throat before he tested the Dicta-Quill hovering over a sheet of paper.  
  
“Urban Rochester and Caroline Sabin, questioning Marcus Gustav Foster on the First of September, 2010 at 3 pm.” After making sure the Dicta-Quill worked properly, he turned his attention to Voldemort.  
  
“Are you aware of the accusations that have been made against you?” he asked.  
  
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “Aware? Yes. However, I’m still waiting for someone to jump out and admit to this being some sort of joke.”  
  
“Noted. Do you know what Veritaserum is?”  
  
Voldemort watched him in disbelief. “Do you take me for a fool?”  
  
“Answer the question.”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. An innocent man wouldn’t have stood for this nonsense, and neither would he. “Yes, I know what Veritaserum is. I’m a member of the Wizengamot. I was in the group that designed the latest law on when Aurors, such as yourself, are allowed to use it.”  
  
“Then you are aware that Aurors are allowed to use Veritaserum in matters of national security.”  
  
“Indeed. However, I want to remind you that you are not allowed to stray from the topic and ask questions of a personal matter,” Voldemort growled and took the vial. “When I’m cleared of these false accusations, Warlock Handel will, no doubt, start another investigation. It will be on your head if you don’t follow protocol.”  
  
“We are well aware of our liberties, Professor Foster. You don’t have to worry,” Sabin replied, her tone friendlier. She wasn’t as good as her colleague at hiding her emotions, and he could see that she already doubted that they had the right man. Excellent.  
  
He nodded and then drank the liquid in one go. At once, he could feel the effects of the Veritaserum take over, but it only took him a moment to overcome them. It was easy to fight of the compulsion to answer the truth when you were a master of Occlumency. However, the tricky part would be for him to convince them he wasn’t fighting the potion. He had to feign confusion, while still appearing uncomfortably honest when responding to their questions. Veritaserum often made the victims ramble on like a talkative drunk.  
  
“Would you please state your full name for the record,” Sabin asked.  
  
“Marcus Gustav Foster,” Voldemort said, spluttering just a little bit.  
  
Sabin and Rochester exchanged a look. This was when they would decide if he were lying through the Veritaserum or really telling the truth.  
  
“What are your views on the wizard known as Voldemort?” Rochester asked, looking as if he wanted to catch him off guard.  
  
Voldemort didn’t even blink. He knew that someone truly under the effects of Veritaserum would simply answer the question, not reflect over it. “He scares me.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I’ve always been afraid he’ll hurt the ones I love the most. Dad was a Muggle and Hermione is Muggle-born ...” Voldemort hesitated as if he were struggling with the truth.  
  
As he had anticipated, Rochester pressed on. “And what else?”  
  
“I don’t want him to find out about me,” he admitted, putting up an act of appearing really worried.  
  
“Why would that be bad?”  
  
“I’m a Parselmouth as well,” Voldemort said in a low voice, looking as if he felt ashamed. Too many people knew that he and his children were Parselmouths for him to be able to sweep it under the carpet. Thus he had to explain it. “I don’t want to risk him taking an interest in me. Everyone he has taken an interest in were hurt. Hermione … I’ve seen the scars Hermione has because of the war. I don’t want to be hurt as well.”  
  
He could see Sabin became convinced that he wasn’t Lord Voldemort. Rochester, however, seemed to need a bit more convincing.  
  
“Have you ever performed Dark Arts?” he asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“As a professor at Oxford, you are expected to know about all types of magic. Including forbidden ones. I knew that when I was a student, and I made sure to read about it. But I have never hurt anyone.”  
  
“When was this?”  
  
“Around twenty years ago. I was living in Chile then.”  
  
It was laughable at how easy it was to trick the Aurors. Another half an hour of questions, and Rochester didn’t look as if he believed Marcus was Voldemort either. He was administered the antidote against Veritaserum and ensured he looked just as embarrassed and ashamed as could be expected from someone who had just revealed uncomfortable truths about himself.  
  
“Well then, Mr Foster,” Rochester said as he gathered the notes together. “We will have to discuss with our colleagues on how to continue from here. Someone will come by with something to eat and drink while you wait.”  
  
Voldemort just nodded. Once the two Aurors had left, he rubbed his face, hiding a smile against his hands. Now he just had to trust that Hermione didn’t screw it up. However, he was sure she wouldn’t. She would want to get out of here as soon as possible to find Althea. He could trust her.

 

xxx

  
“Listen to Ken and be good,” Alexandra’s mum told her and stroked her hair. “Your father and I will be out of here as soon as we can.”  
  
“Why can’t I stay with you?” Alexandra asked, feeling angry and sad. She didn’t want to leave her parents, even though Ken was a much better babysitter than any Weasley.  
  
Her mother sighed. “I’m in custody. They will want to question me now and that will just be a long and boring talk where I try to figure out what is going on. You’ll be much more comfortable at home. You and Ken can order Chinese from that Muggle restaurant you like, and then, you can get ice cream for dessert.”  
  
“What about Althea?” Alexandra asked desperately.  
  
“We are taking care of it, Alex,” Hermione said, glancing over her shoulder at Ken. “Just make sure you are safe and don’t disappear as well. We’ll have your sister home in no time.”  
  
“I can help!” Alexandra exclaimed.  
  
Hermione shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, Alexandra. All you can do is make sure they don’t get you, too. That means you have to go home and stay there. Listen to Ken. Can you do that?”  
  
Alexandra recognised her mother’s stern voice as the one that wouldn’t take no for an answer. There was no use arguing with her when she turned like that. Thus, she caved, feeling tears well in her eyes again.  
  
Hermione sighed and pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Alexandra. Promise you’ll stay safe.”  
  
“I promise, Mum,” Alexandra whispered. “Love you, too.”  
  
She felt her mother place a kiss on the top of her head before letting go. Without another word, Alexandra went up to Ken.  
  
“I’ll make sure she stays safe, Hermione,” Ken said. “Marcus has already asked me to find you an attorney. You’ll have one by tomorrow. I’ll search for Althea as well.”  
  
“Thank you, Ken,” Hermione said.  
  
A few minutes later, Alexandra and Ken had left the Ministry. She guided him to the Chinese restaurant, and they ordered some food to go. However, not even the prospect of take-away food (which her father would never allow them to have when he was home) could brighten Alexandra’s mood. She had no appetite.  
  
Thus, when they finally sat down to eat in the kitchen, she only managed to force some food down before she asked if she could be excused.  
  
“I don’t want your father to flay me alive, girl,” Ken remarked dryly. “Eat at least half of what you have left, and then, you can go.”  
  
If things were normal, Alexandra would pass the comment off as a manner of speech. However, today was not normal.   
  
“Would he?” she asked.  
  
Ken calmly ate another shrimp and swallowed before he answered.   
  
“What makes you think that?”  
  
“They’ve arrested him because they think he is that Voldydorks.” It was a term she had been taught by George and Ron Weasley. Even though many of the people she knew could say “Voldemort” without problem, there was still something frightening about the name. It was easier to joke about it.  
  
“Do you really believe that your father is the Dark Lord?” Ken asked, looking as calm and collected as he always did. Even though she had known him for as long as she could remember, she had never once seen him lose his temper. Although, to be fair, she hadn’t seen him all that often.  
  
Alexandra snorted. “No way. He is evil. Dad isn’t evil.”  
  
“Exactly why they clearly made some sort of mistake,” Ken replied. “I’ve just spoken to an attorney who will help them sort it out. If we are lucky, they will be home tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
Alexandra still didn’t understand. Why would anyone think her parents had something to do with an evil wizard? She knew all about what Voldemort had done. James had told her ages ago. His father had been the one to take away all of Voldemort’s power in Britain, making him run. But before that, Voldemort had done many evil things, like killing and torturing people who were Muggle-born. Alexandra had tried asking her mother about it, but Hermione hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She just said those events belonged in the past, and it was better not to bring it up again.  
  
Sighing, she forced herself to eat more. When she managed to eat as much as Ken had required, she left for their library.  
  
Normally, she didn’t mind being in the library; that’s where the books lived. However, today she couldn’t focus on her reading. Instead, she let the fairy tale lay closed on her lap, and she stared into the fire.  
  
She missed her parents like crazy. Not only that, but she missed Althea as well. If her sister had been here, Althea would have teased her about reading fairy tales when there were so many books about real magic. Alexandra, though, couldn’t understand what Althea found so fascinating about them. They were just filled with difficult words and boring diagrams. She loved listening to her parents when they talked about magic, but it was boring to read about it. Especially when compared to the adventures of the Blueberry Witch.  
  
However, today not even the Blueberry Witch could take her away from reality. Her thoughts travelled back to her parents. She didn’t understand why her father had just let them take him like that. Marcus was the most powerful wizard of all time. He had told her so! Why hadn’t he fought against them? And why did her mother just stand aside and let them take him? She was always talking about how you should always stand up for your family. It didn’t make sense!  
  
And now, her mother wanted her to just sit by and do nothing while they were in prison and Althea was missing. How could she do that? No, Alexandra decided she couldn’t do that. Somehow, she would find her sister. Determinedly, she put the fairy tale away and went to the bookcases. Her father always said that there was nothing you couldn’t do with magic; you just had to find the right spell. All she had to do was find the spell that found missing people. How hard could that be?

 

xxx

  
Once Alexandra left, Hermione was taken into an interrogation room for questioning. However, now that she knew her youngest daughter was being taken care of, she could put all of her focus on her oldest. And she no longer had the patience to be reasonable. If it weren't for Harry and the Aurors, Althea would never have been kidnapped. She could never forgive anyone for that.  
  
"Mrs Granger, please be seated," Auror Nimlet said.  
  
"I won't sit down until you let me go to search for my daughter!" Hermione cried. "If you hadn't taken us, this would never had happened! You don't find that suspicious at all?"  
  
"The situation is unfortunate," the Auror admitted. "But when the accusations are this severe, we have to act swiftly. I'm sure you understand—"  
  
"UNDERSTAND? The only thing I understand is that you chose to act on Harry's orders, even though he is known for acting recklessly regarding Voldemort."  
  
"Mr Potter fought You-Know-Who on numerous occasions—"  
  
"I have fought Voldemort on numerous occasions, too!" Hermione interrupted him again. "Didn't any of you stop to wonder why on earth Voldemort would choose to marry someone who fought against him and who is a _Muggle-born_?  
  
Nimlet shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Mr Potter showed us some memories where Mr Foster revealed that he was indeed You-Know-Who in disguise.”  
  
Hermione hardly had to think a second before she found a way to get that evidence out of the way. “Mr Potter also has a memory where he sees his godfather being tortured by Voldemort. That never happened. In fact, what if the real Voldemort is behind all of this, throwing suspicions at me and my husband, while he makes his move elsewhere. What if he is the one who has kidnapped my daughter?”  
  
It didn’t help her keep her calm that she knew someone much worse than Voldemort had kidnapped her daughter.  
  
“We are searching for your daughter―”  
  
“But you haven’t found her!” Hermione screamed.  
  
“Please, Mrs Granger, calm yourself,” the Auror asked, looking even more uncomfortable than before.  
  
“NO! Because of you lot, my daughter is missing. I won’t calm down until you let me out of here so I can search,” she hissed. “These accusations are outrageous. You know it, too. Why on earth would I help Voldemort with anything? After everything I’ve done to stop him?”  
  
She held Nimlet’s gaze until he looked away, shifting in his seat. “I’ll go and talk with my colleagues about it.”  
  
“Good,” she growled.  
  
He left, and Hermione started pacing. She needed to see Voldemort. He would no doubt already have a plan on how they were going to get out of here. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do without her wand, and she didn’t have connections on the inside. She knew Voldemort would have backup plans for everything. But how could she convince the Aurors to let her see him?  
  
She wasn’t sure how long she had been alone when the door opened and an unfamiliar woman entered. She was short. Her back was incredibly straight as if someone had strapped a board to it. In every way, she looked strict. Even her face was set in a no-nonsense sort of way.    
  
“Mrs Granger,” the woman said and offered Hermione her hand. “I’m Alice Tamsin. I was sent by Mr Mizuro, at the request of your husband. I’ll be your attorney.”  
  
Hermione shook her hand. “Are you here to get me out so that I can find my daughter?”  
  
“I’m good, Mrs Granger, but I’m not that good. There’s still a nightmare of paperwork to go through. But I’ll have you both out in the morning. In the meantime, your husband has requested that the two of you share a cell tonight. Since few Aurors believe you to be associated with You-Know-Who, his request has been granted _if_ you don’t object,” Tamsin said.  
  
“How can they be okay with that and still want to keep us locked up?,” Hermione asked in disbelief. When Tamsin just shrugged, Hermione added: “And what about my daughter?”  
  
“Mr Mizuro is looking into it as we speak,” Tamsin answered. “If you would please come with me, an Auror will escort us to Mr Foster.”  
  
Well, seeing Voldemort was at least a step in the right direction. He would know of a way to break out of here. Tamsin and an Auror led her farther down the corridor of holding cells. All doors looked just the same, and Hermione had lost count when they finally stopped.  
  
Without a word, the guard opened the door and let Hermione and Tamsin walk through.  
  
“Hermione.” Voldemort rose from the bunk the moment he saw her enter.   
  
Hermione was so relieved to see him that she ran up to him, throwing herself around him, before she broke down crying. Somehow, they could make things right together.   
  
“Are you alright?” Voldemort asked, sounding alarmed as he patted her back in a comforting gesture.  
  
“I’m fine,” Hermione sobbed.  
  
“What is it? Didn’t Ken come to take care of Alexandra?  
  
“He did,” Hermione said. “But Althea is missing.”  
  
“What?” Voldemort said, looking absolutely horrified. “How? When?”  
  
“Your daughter disappeared from the Hogwarts Express,” Tamsin answered, her tone cool and professional. “The Aurors, as well as your friend, Mr Mizuro, are doing their best to find her. I’ll have you both out in the morning, so you can join the search. That is, as long as you keep yourselves from doing anything rash.”  
  
At the last part, she looked at Hermione, apparently guessing what was going on in the other woman’s mind. Hermione pressed her lips together. Like Tamsin knew what it was like, missing a child.  
  
“I’m glad you could come at such short notice, Alice,” Voldemort said, grateful. “I have no idea how this came to be.”  
  
“That’s what you pay me a ridiculous amount of money for, Foster,” Tamsin replied, giving Voldemort a wolfish smile. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.”  
  
Voldemort nodded at her, and Tamsin left again. When they were finally alone, Hermione leaned back, looking at his face while she grabbed Voldemort’s hand.  
  
 _You have to break us out of here_ , she growled, using their mind connection.  
  
 _Are you insane? If we break out, we’ll have to leave Britain. We’ll have to live on the run. It will be much harder to find Althea then. You heard Tamsin, we’ll be out tomorrow._  
  
 _But—_  
  
 _Hermione, we know the fairies have her. They won’t harm her;_ _they need her. But they won’t be easy to find. We can’t just storm out and search under every rock we find. We need a plan. And we can plan just as well here tonight,_ _so we can set it in motion the moment we come out tomorrow._  
  
She hated that his reasons made sense. She wanted to smash something. Scream. Instead, she started crying again. Voldemort sighed and embraced her.  
  
“We will find Althea, dear,” Voldemort muttered into her hair. “I promise.”  
  
Hermione put her arms around him as well, her crying easing. He was right. Nothing would be better if they stormed out. That was the Gryffindor in her speaking. And, as Harry had just showed, doing things the Gryffindor way never worked.  
  
 _Did they interrogate you?_ he asked inside her mind once she had stopped crying completely.  
  
 _Yes. Harry asked me to come clean, but I pretended not to understand what he was talking about,_ Hermione answered. _How did your interrogation go?_  
  
 _Oh, they don’t think I’m Voldemort. They questioned me under Veritaserum. I’m positive I passed with flying colours,_ he replied, sounding chipper. _Now, let’s talk for real. If someone is watching, I don’t want them to get suspicious._  
  
Hermione reluctantly broke free from his embrace, but she still held his hand in hers. “Are you alright?”  
  
“As good as can be expected,” Voldemort answered. “I had a hard time convincing them to call my attorney, though. I don’t get this. Why would they think I’m You-Know-Who?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Hermione said, hesitating. Now that she had calmed down, she thought back to the plan she had made earlier about discrediting Harry. “I’m afraid there is something wrong with Harry. He has been very stressed lately. Perhaps Voldemort has got into his mind again, making him paranoid?”  
  
 _Oh, clever girl, playing on Potter’s history with supposed mental problems,_ he praised her.  
  
“Can You-Know-Who really do that?” Voldemort asked out loud, looking surprised and worried.  
  
“Well, he has managed to trick Harry before,” Hermione mumbled bitterly.  
  
Voldemort sighed and shook his head. “We’ll have to find some way to help him, when we get out of here. If You-Know-Who has cast some sort of paranoia-spell on him, we have to find a way to break it.”  
  
Hermione nodded and looked around the cell for a place to sit. The cell was small, only containing a metal table, a pin chair and a hard-looking bunk with a grey wool blanket on top of it. She chose the bunk, and Voldemort followed her, pulling her towards him as they sat down.  
  
“How do you know Tamsin?”  
  
“She was a student of mine for a semester,” Voldemort replied. “Not that good at Transfiguration, but very clever. I advised her to change her career choice, and it seems to have been sound advice. She is one of the best attorneys money can buy. Not that I think we’ll need it. We wouldn’t have even been arrested if it hadn’t been Harry given the orders. I can’t imagine there being any evidence out there that supports their accusations. How could there be?”  
  
Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. “You are right,” she replied.   
  
“What if Voldemort has forged some evidence?” she asked, worried. In her mind, she added: _Or rather, the fairies?_  
  
“That’s what we have the best attorney for,” Voldemort said in a calming tone of voice, silently adding: _The fairies can’t use magic in our world. Yet._  
  
Hermione shivered and curled up against him. How could her entire world take such a horrible turn all of a sudden? She was supposed to be relaxing at home now after a day at the zoo with Alexandra. Perhaps she would’ve been planning her upcoming lecture before dinner. Not sitting in here, wanting to rip someone’s throat out from keeping her from finding her daughter.  
  
Hermione and Voldemort didn’t say much to each other during the remainder of the evening. They received a modest dinner at around seven, and Hermione asked the guard if he had heard anything regarding the search for Althea.  
  
The guard just shrugged. “Haven’t heard a thing, madam. Would you like an extra blanket for the night?”  
  
“That would be nice; thank you,” she answered, surprised at how polite the guard was.   
  
Then she realised that the guard probably didn’t believe that Marcus was Voldemort either. They were most likely ordered not to make things any worse for the Ministry.  
  
At ten, they had to get ready for bed before the guards turned off the lights. Hermione removed her shoes and socks, but she kept her blouse and knee-length skirt on. Voldemort only kept his shirt and underwear on.  
  
“You know I hate sleeping in trousers,” he replied in response to her arched eyebrow.  
  
Hermione snorted. She knew the reason he hated sleeping with trousers on was because of his morning stiffness. Or sometimes, night stiffness. She wouldn’t be surprised if she would wake up later to find him not wearing underwear at all.  
  
The moment they were underneath the blanket, the cell turned completely black. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. She didn’t think she could sleep, but she felt utterly exhausted.  
  
Since the bunk was so small, Voldemort was already spooning her. They had only been lying down for a few minutes when his hands began to wander.  
  
 _What are you doing?_ she asked into his mind.  
  
 _You_ ’ _re tense. You need to relax and sleep. I’ll help you with that._  
  
 _You_ ’ _re actually horny,_ she stated in disbelief.  
  
 _Obviously._ His hands reached the hem of her skirt, and he slowly pulled it upwards.  
  
 _People can see us!_ Hermione objected, stopping his hand. _And how can you think about sex when our daughter is missing?_  
  
 _They have turned the light off,_ _and we are under a blanket. They can’t see a thing. Just keep quiet. And Althea will continue to be missing whether we fuck or not. Besides, if something unpredictable happens_ _and we do need to break out of here, I’ll need the extra magic._  
  
Hermione wanted to object. Having sex here, at this time, felt completely wrong. Yet, her skin was already tingling with pleasure because of their bond. She had never been able to say no to him. It seemed this time was no exception.  
  
His hand started sneaking up under her skirt. Hermione moved her leg as his hand found the crotch of her knickers, pushing it aside so he could enter her with one quick thrust. Of course, she was already wet and ready for him. She always was. It would be unfair if she didn’t have the same effect on him. One suggestive look or a stroke in the right place, and he was as hard as a rock.  
  
They were both addicts. The few times they had been away from each other for longer than a day was rough. Voldemort never admitted it, but she could see it. Felt it in the way he held her when they returned to each other. Being without him was like losing a limb.  
  
A limb she loved.  
  
She let out a gasp when his right hand found her clitoris. His left hand immediately came up to her mouth, silencing her by sticking two fingers into her mouth. Hermione bit down on them, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to voice her displeasure. He responded by kissing her shoulder.  
  
His movement inside her was slow and minimal, so their guards wouldn’t notice if they were watching. Hermione did most of the work by clenching her vaginal muscles, massaging his cock. She loved it. Voldemort being inside of her pushed all other thoughts away. It wasn’t just his cock in her cunt, it was his entire presence inside her. She didn’t know if it was because of their Shared Flame, and she didn’t care. As long as he was there, nothing bad would happen. It was just pleasure, intimacy and magic. Their magic, coming together again, as it wanted.  
  
She climaxed with a shudder, taking him with her, both of them suppressing groans. He withdrew his fingers from her mouth but let his softening cock stay inside her for a bit longer as he held her.  
  
Hermione didn’t realise she had started to cry again until he brought the blanket up to her face, wiping away her tears. She was both physically and mentally exhausted.  
  
“Hush, love,” he whispered. “It’s okay. We’ll get out of this.”  
  
 _If those fucking fairies do_ _anything to my daughter, I’m going to kill them,_ Hermione promised him. _I’m going to find a way to make them corporeal and then I’m going to torture them like there is no tomorrow._  
  
 _I know, kitten. I’m going to help you. The fairies will regret ever hearing our names,_ Voldemort replied. _We will get Althea back, and then,_ _we are going to destroy them. And anyone else standing in our way._  
  



	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Nerys and Shan84 for taking their time to beta the chapter for me.

**Chapter 38**  
  
Voldemort didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t trust the Ministry’s guards at all. If it weren’t for the tiny detail that he would look guilty, he would have broken out of there the moment they threw him in.  
  
Either way, he didn’t like being unable to do magic. Being inside this cage was suffocating. The only thing that kept him from losing his cool was that he knew a way to break out, if necessary. His position at the Wizengamot had given him access to some very sensitive information about the Ministry’s wards.  
  
Alas, showing that knowledge would lead to many questions, and that would make him look guilty as well. Why would he bother finding the weakness if he didn't think he could use it? Therefore, he calmed himself with the knowledge that he could break free, if he needed to. But he wasn’t that desperate yet. Potter didn’t have any evidence of who Marcus was, other than his words. Even though Potter’s word weighed a lot with the Aurors, Miss Tamsin would destroy that sooner rather than later. They would be out of here within a matter of hours. Then they could work on destroying Potter’s credibility as well as saving their daughter from the fairies.  
  
Voldemort exhaled in frustration as he thought about his daughter. Why hadn’t he considered that the fairies would use her first Hogwarts trip to get her? It hadn’t been on his mind at all. Could the fairies have manipulated him in some way? He had thought they were both clean of fairy magic, but there was a lot that he didn’t know about the fairies still. If only he had access to Merlin’s library …  
  
That thought made him pause. Why couldn’t he gain access to Merlin’s library? He knew where it was, after all. It would be hard, especially with Potter’s accusations. He couldn’t really risk being caught … but this was his daughter. And who said he would be caught?  
  
It would delay Althea’s rescue, though, but that couldn't be helped. The fairies wouldn’t kill her, but they would make it difficult to find her. That would be their first priority. He didn’t doubt that their precautions would be finished once he got out of the cell. Therefore, there was no use being rash. They would need to plan this carefully. Hermione would have to understand that. She would also have to realise that they needed to take care of Potter to be able to search freely. No one could think that he was Voldemort. In fact, if they were to gain access to Merlin’s library, it would be good if the Aurors were occupied with something else. If they believed Potter was being tricked by “Voldemort”, then they would start a search. He would have to make sure they had some sort of trail to follow. Something that kept them busy for a while.  
  
But then there was Potter. Once everyone believed he was crazy, he would become reckless. Voldemort had to make sure Potter didn’t try to kill him …  
  
Or wait. If Potter _did_ try to kill him, Voldemort could claim self-defence. Or, even better, he could make sure someone else saw that Potter was trying to kill him and have them stop Potter. That way, Potter would be the one locked into Azkaban for some time. Probably not forever, since he was The-Boy-Who-Annoyed and all that. It would put Potter away for the time it would take to break into Merlin’s library and rescue his daughter. After that, he could see if something more permanent needed to happen to Potter.  
  
“Have you been awake all night?” Hermione asked in a low voice as the light in the cell was turned on.  
  
Voldemort blinked. Time moved so quickly when you were planning. “Yes. You slept some.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “Not well.”  
  
He kissed her shoulder. “I don’t blame you.”  
  
Hermione wriggled a bit, and he realised she was correcting her skirt. “Merlin, I feel disgusting. Do you think they will let us shower?”  
  
Voldemort recalled their sex the night before and smirked. “Why, feeling sticky?”  
  
She glared at him as she moved out of the bed. “Just tell me if I look okay.”  
  
“You look as if you have slept in your clothes,” he answered truthfully. “Hand me my trousers.”  
  
She threw them to him and tried to flatten her blouse with her hands, annoyance evident on her face. “This isn’t working!”  
  
Voldemort frowned at her and rose, buttoning up his trousers. She was behaving … _odd_. She wasn’t a shallow person; why would she care what her clothes looked like? It took him a moment to realise she was trying not to have a breakdown. He sighed and walked up to her.  
  
“Look at me,” he ordered her. “Stand still.”  
  
He helped her sort out her hair, so it was not flying all over the place, and then he eyed her clothes.  
  
“They are just wrinkly. And since they didn’t bother giving us a change, I doubt anyone will blame you for it. You can wear my robe over it if you’d like?”  
  
“No, I’m fine. I just …” she trailed off, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. “I just want to get out of here.”  
  
“So do I, love,” he said and put on his shirt.  
  
He had just finished buttoning it up when the door to the cell opened and a guard came in with their breakfast. “Your attorney is here already,” he said, putting the tray down on the table. “You’ll be escorted to a hearing in half an hour.”  
  
“Thank you,” Voldemort said politely, but he put the guard’s face to memory. When he had the opportunity, he was going to kill every last one who had seen him locked in like this.  
  
The guard simply nodded and left.  
  
“You need to eat,” Voldemort pointed out ten minutes later when all Hermione had done was play with her spoon in the yoghurt.  
  
Hermione looked up at him. For a moment, all she did was stare at him with a hollow expression. Then, her eyes lit with fire and she threw the plate with yoghurt into the wall. Voldemort didn’t even flinch when the plate broke with a crushing sound.  
  
“Feeling better?” he asked, taking another sip from the dreadful excuse they called coffee at the Ministry.  
  
“No,” she growled and stood up, starting to pace the cell.  
  
To his great surprise, she was glaring as if she were angry at him. What the hell had he done now? He sighed and turned back to his own breakfast. This wasn’t the place to get into a fight. Let the Aurors think she was angry at them. She probably was as well.  
  
When the door opened again, Tamsin stood next to the guard, dressed in a tailored dark-green robe, which gave a very professional impression. Then again, Tamsin always knew how to dress for the occasion. That was one of the reasons Voldemort had chosen her as his attorney.  
  
“Are you ready?” she asked them.  
  
Voldemort rose from the chair. “To get out of here? Certainly.”  
  
Tamsin gave him a small, satisfied smile, which told him she had everything in order for their release.  
  
They were escorted from the cell by two Aurors and Tamsin. The Aurors didn’t say anything, but Voldemort could see from their relaxed walk that they didn’t expect anything to happen. It was merely protocol that had them there.  
  
When he realised that they weren’t even led into one of the hearing chambers but a conference room in the Auror Department instead, he could hardly suppress a smile. If there were even a small chance in the Aurors’ mind that he was Voldemort, he wouldn’t have been taken here. They had already won.  
  
Five people were already in the conference room. He recognised the two Aurors who had interrogated him the day before, Rochester and Sabin, as well as Chief Warlock Handel and Minister Shacklebolt. The fifth person was Harry Potter.  
  
“Hermione, Marcus, please take a seat,” Shacklebolt said, not even looking half as uncomfortable as the other people in the room. Then again, being Minister required some acting skills.  
  
Voldemort sat down next to Hermione, while Tamsin sat down next to him.  
  
Voldemort studied the other people around the table as he made sure to look both haggard and angry. Rochester and Sabin were both going through their papers, not making eye contact with anyone. Handel gave Voldemort a reassuring smile, probably wanting to give him the impression he had managed to make all of this happen. No doubt so Voldemort wouldn’t press charges against the Wizengamot as well as the Aurors. Potter looked utterly defeated and angry.  
  
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Shacklebolt cleared his throat. “Well, we wanted to meet you both here and begin by apologising for the discomfort members of the Ministry have caused you.”  
  
Voldemort didn’t bother to hold back a snort. “Discomfort?”  
  
Shacklebolt sighed. “Yes, well, I hope both of you understand that, with the information we had, we had to act fast and with power. If there was any chance that Voldemort was posing as someone else, especially someone with as much influence as you, Marcus, we couldn’t risk him to get away.”  
  
“I guess it’s too much to ask the Ministry to verify their sources before they act,” Hermione spat, her hands turning into fists on the table.  
  
“We thought we had,” Rochester said. “But we are not perfect; mistakes—”  
  
“Mistakes?” Hermione interrupted, her voice hard. “You are the reason my daughter is missing!”  
  
“Hermione,” Voldemort said softly and put his hand on top of the one she had fisted in her lap. Then he turned to the Minister. “If you want to apologise for arresting us, then just go ahead and do it. We have more important things to do than stay here.”  
  
“Yes. Well, then, Harry?” Shacklebolt said, turning to the boy.  
  
Potter hadn’t looked at any of them during the few minutes they had been there, but now he rose swiftly, glaring at Voldemort. “I know who you truly are, and I won’t rest until I’ve found more solid evidence.”  
  
Voldemort applied his best face of sorrow, but on the inside, he was snickering. This was going to be so entertaining.  
  
“Harry—” Shacklebolt tried, a tone of warning in his voice.  
  
“No!” Harry interrupted. “I know I’m right. I was right before; I’m right now; and I’ll make sure you’ll know it, too, in the end.”  
  
With that, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut. Rochester and Sabin exchanged a look of surprise and worry. The Minister sighed and shook his head.  
  
“On behalf of the Ministry, I’ll have to apologise then,” Shacklebolt said. “You will, of course, be compensated for your time in custody, and because of the public arrest, we will make an official apology in the Daily Prophet tomorrow.”  
  
Voldemort knew they were trying to make amends with them. Shacklebolt knew how much damage they could cause to the Ministry and the current administration’s reputation if they wanted to. They were trying to save face. Well, Voldemort could play nice. It never hurt to have leverage against the Ministry in many different ways.  
  
Also, he didn’t want people to remember this incident for long. He wanted to kill the people who arrested him and humiliate them without anyone connecting the dots. That would be easier if their arrests were forgotten.  
  
“Good. Are we free to go?” Voldemort asked briskly.  
  
Tamsin nudged him. “You do know we could sue the Ministry?”  
  
“Yes. But right now I just want to take my wife home so we can comfort our youngest daughter who is no doubt very worried about us, before finding our oldest daughter who I can’t imagine is feeling much better.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Shacklebolt said. “We are searching for her as well. If someone contacts you or you find a new lead, we will assist you further.”  
  
Voldemort had no intention of letting them assist him in any way, but he nodded nonetheless.  
  
“Does that mean we are free to leave?” Hermione asked, rising as she spoke.  
  
“Yes,” Shacklebolt answered. “We just have some papers for you to sign. But if you want, your attorney can take care of that.”  
  
Voldemort glanced at Tamsin. “Will you contact us later tonight about what these papers entailed?”  
  
“Of course. You two get home,” Tamsin answered.  
  
“Well then. Where are our wands?” Voldemort asked, rising as well.  
  
Ten minutes later, they Apparated home, free as birds.  
  
“Alexandra?” Hermione called when they landed in their hallway.  
  
The sound of something heavy hitting the floor and running feet came from the storey above them. The next moment, Voldemort found himself being tackled by the fifty pound girl. Alexandra hugged his midsection tightly, sobbing softly.  
  
“Dad, I was so scared!” she cried into his shirt. “Why did they take you?”  
  
Voldemort stroked his daughter’s head before making her ease her grip around him. “It’s okay now, Alex. The Aurors made a mistake. I’m home now.”  
  
“Alex,” Hermione said softly and kneeled next to their daughter, pulling her into a hug. Alexandra began sobbing against her mother’s chest, apparently not being able to stay collected anymore.   
  
As mother and daughter comforted each other, Mizuro approached Voldemort from the dining room.  
  
“Any news?” he asked, and made a gesture for Mizuro to follow him into the office.  
  
“Marcus!” Hermione hissed to him over Alexandra’s head.  
  
Voldemort grimaced. It seemed Hermione was still not very happy with him. Thankfully, she had her hands full with Alexandra. Thus, Voldemort sent her a look saying they would talk later and lead Mizuro into his office. He could tell she wasn’t happy by that, but he didn’t have time for her theatrics right now.  
  
“Well?” he asked, closing the door.  
  
“No news. Althea can’t be found by any known magical means,” Mizuro said.  
  
Even though Voldemort had suspected as much, it made him annoyed. “You tried everything?”  
  
“Every locating spell I know,” Mizuro admitted.   
  
That meant normal Dark Arts as well. Voldemort would try them as well later, just to be sure Mizuro hadn’t made a mistake. However, he didn’t have high hopes. Mizuro was very competent in the Dark Arts.  
  
“I’ll need you around for a bit longer. Do you have anything you need to settle?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Not right now. I’m not expected back in Japan until next week.”  
  
“You may need to postpone your return,” Voldemort said. “I need you to guard Alexandra.”  
  
Mizuro sighed but nodded. He would do as his master commanded, as always, but unlike Death Eaters, Mizuro didn’t mind showing he was displeased with an order. Voldemort couldn’t care less of Mizuro’s displeasure though, as long as the other man did what he was told.  
  
“So you do know who has taken your daughter,” Mizuro commented.  
  
“Fairies,” Voldemort answered. “This house is secure from them, but I need to search your mind to see if you have been compromised. You’ll have to sleep here until we have resolved this mess. I can’t risk the fairies turning you against me as well.”  
  
“I see,” Mizuro said and sat down in one of the armchairs, making himself comfortable for the Legilimency.  
  
Voldemort was just about to begin when Hermione opened the door, holding Alexandra’s hand.  
  
“Marcus?” she asked, giving him a pointed look that told him she wanted to talk to him, alone, asap.  
  
“In a minute, Hermione,” Voldemort said. “I need to make sure we are safe.”  
  
Hermione regarded him a moment, then let out a frustrated sigh. She was growing impatient again. Voldemort wondered how long she would be able to keep her cool. He would have to speak to her soon. It would be no good if she ran out, trying to find Althea without a plan. However, making sure Mizuro didn’t kill them all the moment he lowered his guard took first priority.  
  
“I’ll make some lunch, then,” Hermione muttered. Still holding Alexandra’s hand, she left the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
“Prepare yourself,” Voldemort told Mizuro before entering his mind.  
  
Thankfully, Voldemort found no evidence of fairy magic inside his minion’s mind. Neither could he see anything amiss during the time Mizuro had looked after Alexandra. The girl had been staying in the library most of the time, reading. Voldemort was a bit surprised over it. Alexandra usually had too much energy to spend the day inside with a book, unlike Althea and Hermione. Voldemort wondered if she were up to something or if she had just been sad and tried to find comfort where her absent sister and mother always got it.  
  
“Don’t sleep anywhere but here,” Voldemort ordered Mizuro as they made their way to the kitchen for lunch.  
  
“I have already had my things transported to your guestroom,” Mizuro said. “Will you be going out and searching for her today?”  
  
“I need to take care of some other things first,” Voldemort replied. “You should probably read up on fairies.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Mizuro replied truthfully. Like most academics, he liked learning new things.  
  
They sat down at the table where Hermione had made some turkey sandwiches. Voldemort looked at his daughter, feeling slightly annoyed by her presence. She complicated matters, and he didn’t like it. Up until now, his children had mostly been useful for him, and he hoped they would continue to be so in the future. But what if they got in the way more and more? He couldn’t just kill them; Hermione would never stand for that, and he wanted Hermione to stay with him. Well, he would just have to make sure that they didn’t get in the way. Somehow.  
  
“What happened to Althea, Dad?” Alexandra asked carefully, after a moment of silence. It was clear that the question worried her.  
  
“Althea has been kidnapped,” Voldemort replied, taking a bite of his sandwich.  
  
Alexandra swallowed. “By Voldydorks?”  
  
Voldemort choked on his sandwich. He coughed a few times, giving Hermione time to answer in his place.  
  
“No, love, Voldydorks didn’t take Althea. Fairies did.”  
  
Voldemort glared at her, not liking the name-calling (Where on earth had Alexandra learned that name?) nor Hermione’s openness. “I thought we wouldn’t involve the children?”  
  
“And look how well that went,” Hermione snarled before turning towards Alexandra again. “You have to be careful, Alex. They can’t touch you as long as you are in this house, so you have to be careful until we have this resolved. Don’t go outside alone.”  
  
Alexandra frowned. “What kind of fairies? The ones in the stories are nice.”  
  
“These fairies are not like the ones in the stories. They can look like anything,” Hermione explained. “One of them calls herself Morgana. She is the one who has taken Althea. We don’t think they will harm her, but they won’t give her back either. Your father and I will find them and make them give Althea back, though.”  
  
“Why have they taken Althea?” Alexandra asked.  
  
“They want to use her magic,” Hermione said. “But we won’t let them. As soon as we find out where they are, we will go there and bring Althea back.”  
  
“Will it be dangerous?” Alexandra sounded worried again.  
  
Hermione’s reassuring smile didn’t fool Voldemort and it didn’t seem to fool Alexandra either. “Don’t worry, Alex. We will get your sister back, safe and sound.”  
  
“You can’t tell anyone about this, though,” Voldemort told Alexandra firmly. “We don’t know who is on the fairies’ side, so we can’t trust anyone but the ones in this room.”  
  
“Okay,” Alexandra said, looking down on her plate. “Can I go to the library now?”  
  
“Very well,” Voldemort allowed, making a mental note to ask her what she was doing in the library later.  
  
Once Alexandra had disappeared from the table, Hermione looked at him, her face full of determination. “Where should we start looking?”  
  
“First, you and I are going to talk,” Voldemort said and rose. “Ken, I trust you can entertain yourself?”  
  
“Believe it or not, I do have my own work to do,” Mizuro replied dryly and left the kitchen as well.  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes.  
  
“We haven’t done anything but talk,” Hermione growled as he spelled the dishes clean.  
  
“We need a plan, Hermione. Acting before thinking is exactly what got us into this mess to begin with. I don’t think we want to copy Potter’s mistake,” he reminded her.  
  
“Well, pardon me for not being an emotionless sociopath!” Hermione spat. “One of us does care about what happens to our daughters!”  
  
Voldemort felt a deadly calm settle within him. Without a word, he grabbed Hermione’s wrist and dragged her up to their bedroom. She tried to pull her wrist free, but at least she had enough sense not to start screaming at him. He didn’t want Alexandra to come out. That would complicate things.  
  
Once inside their bedroom with the permanent Silencing Charm on it, he let go of her. Hermione rubbed her wrist, glaring at him with anger. They had been married far too long for her to fear him any longer. Well, that could always change.  
  
“I care a great deal about what happens to our daughters, Hermione,” Voldemort said softly. “I want Althea home as much as you do. But I refuse to let my emotions get the better of me, and neither should you. Getting her back from the fairies will be hard. If you’re going to run around and be hysterical the entire time, then tell me now, so I can lock you in until this is over.”  
  
Hermione withdrew her wand. He did the same.  
  
“Don’t you dare try to tell me what I should feel, Voldemort,” she spat, tears running down her cheeks. “You could not even imagine the kind of hell I’m experiencing right now, because you don’t love our daughters.”  
  
He blocked the first spell she fired, surprised by the power of it. He jumped up on the bed so he could attack her from the side. He didn’t want to hurt her  … _yet_. Just disarm her.  
  
She deflected his stunning spell and marched up to the bed, firing spells without taking a breather. He didn’t even have time to recognise most of them, but he became increasingly worried by the fire in her eyes and the fierceness of the spells.  
  
“ _Crucio_ ,” she finally whispered when she was a mere yard away from him.  
  
Voldemort dove off the bed, the curse missing him by a mere inch.  
  
“Hermione!” he growled, getting angry. He shouldn’t have duelled so much with her in the past. She knew him too well and knew what to expect. He usually knew what to expect from her as well, but this was not her usual pattern.  
  
She was taking it all out on him, he realised as he had to roll over to dodge another curse. She clearly had quite a bit of unresolved issues she was working her way through. Boy, didn’t he feel special.  
  
He slashed his wand in her direction, but she jumped aside, throwing her own curse, which hit him. He screamed at the intensity of the Cruciatus Curse, not having experienced anything similar to it for half a century. Every single nerve felt as if they were on fire, and he couldn’t even think from the pain. All he wanted was for it to stop.  
  
He didn’t know how long it lasted, but it was long enough for his voice to become hoarse. Was she going to kill him? He couldn’t die! He didn’t want to die!  
  
Thankfully, the curse ended. From a distance, he heard Hermione’s hysterical cry. She lay down next to him and embraced him, crying into his chest.  
  
Voldemort trembled from the after-effects of the curse, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. A part of him was relieved she had ended it. Another, much bigger part wanted to reach for his wand and curse her. But he didn’t have the energy. He would curse her in a moment.  
  
The rational part of his mind knew that she had needed to get it out of her system. It was good that she had. She would be of no use to him until she had got over the pain and fear. Now, she would be back to her own collected self, and they could get to work. However, he would have been much happier if she had taken it out on someone else. Preferably Potter.  
  
He didn’t know how long it took for him to stop trembling, but it happened around the same time it took for Hermione to stop crying. For a moment, they just lay together. His hand came up on her face, and he weakly brushed away her hair from her wet cheeks.  
  
“I could kill you for this,” he said, his voice hoarse from all the screaming.  
  
She smiled sadly. “No, you can’t.” Her voice was thick from crying. “You can’t be sure it won’t kill you, too, like the Alpertons said.”  
  
He smiled. “But you will pay.”  
  
She sighed. “I know. I know you. What do you plan on doing?”  
  
“For people to believe that the ‘real’ Voldemort framed me so he could get the Ministry off his back, something else has to actually happen. Now, I feel in the mood for a massacre. Thanks to you.” He leaned closer and kissed her forehead.  
  
She stiffened. He knew how much she hated it when he hurt others. It was a most fitting punishment, which he would enjoy greatly.  
  
“I should have let you rot in prison,” she muttered. He knew they would have an argument about it later. But right now, she sounded too tired for it.  
  
He kissed her forehead again. Now that he had got over the worst of the Cruciatus, all the magic she had forced on him was starting to make him horny.  
  
“Let’s have sex in the bathtub,” he said. The Cruciatus made him sweat like crazy, and he still needed to wash away the disgusting feeling of the holding cell.  
  
He sat up, groaning. His muscles were still cramping up a bit, but he ignored it. Some healing potion in the water would make him feel much better.  
  
Hermione sat up as well. “What about Althea?”  
  
“We will find her. First, however, we have to get a plan on how to deal with the fairies. Just grabbing Althea and making a run for it won’t work. We need to make sure they can’t take her again.”  
  
“Yes, I get that. And I want to kill them as much as you do. But what could we possibly do to them? They aren’t exactly on this plane of existence,” Hermione objected.  
  
“We are going to find out what to do to them _after_ we have raided Merlin’s tomb,” Voldemort replied and rose to a standing position, helping her up as well. “He was the one to banish them in the first place. I’m sure we’ll find more information about them in his tomb.”  
  
“Oh, right, because Merlin’s tomb is just something you can visit whenever you like,” Hermione said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was thinking we should get our daughter back before she becomes wrinkled and grey.”  
  
“Well, I happen to know exactly where it is. The only problem is getting there. Good thing is that both of us have managed to do it before,” he answered, ignoring her sarcasm.  
  
“Done what, exactly?” she asked, sounding like she didn’t believe him.  
  
“Why, broken into Gringotts, of course.”  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon review replied can be found at: tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I’d like to thank Nerys and Shan84 for betaing! And I also want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing.
> 
> Anon review replies can be found on: tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet

**Chapter 39**  
  
“I won’t let you cause a massacre,” Hermione stated.   
  
It was almost three in the morning, and they had been planning their break-in of Gringotts ever since they made it out of the bathtub. Hermione felt much more relaxed and focused after she had tortured Voldemort. She regretted doing it though. Not only because she didn’t truly want to hurt the man she loved, but also because of the consequences. He wouldn’t let her forget this.  
  
“Oh really, and how do you plan to stop me?” Voldemort asked, his tone bored as he flicked through the pages of a thick volume. “And please, don’t try the ‘I won’t have sex with you’ card. It never worked before, and it won’t work now. You crave sex just as much as I do.”  
  
Hermione leaned back in her armchair. She had used the whole night to think of a different solution, and now it was time to try it. “Oh, there are a lot of other ways I can make your life miserable. You told Tamsin you don’t want to press charges against the Ministry for taking us into custody. I assume you have a reason for that. Maybe you want to blackmail someone, or maybe you just want people to forget about the humiliation of getting arrested. Either way, I can still press charges. I have my own money, and I can afford an attorney who can keep this up for a very long time. Then, I think I could even consider going to the Daily Prophet and give an exclusive … you get the picture.”  
  
Voldemort seemed calm, but Hermione knew him well and she was certainly getting to him. He lowered his head just slightly and looked at her in a way that he always did when he was annoyed with her. He clearly did not want her to do that.  
  
“How time-consuming. I thought you wanted us to find Althea,” Voldemort said after a moment of silence.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously I’m going to wait until after we’ve got Althea back. I just wanted to let you know now, before you did something _I_ will have to punish _you_ for.”  
  
Voldemort leaned back in his own armchair. “So we will become stuck in a circle of punishments? Create more and more vicious ways on how to make the other one miserable?” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Actually, that does sound like fun.”  
  
Hermione slammed her fists into the table in anger, standing up. “Dammit, Voldemort! Can’t you just be satisfied with an apology? Must you take everything so fucking personally?”  
  
Voldemort arched his eyebrows and stared at her. “You tortured me until I could no longer scream, and I’m quite sure my muscles will continue to cramp for days, so yes, I am taking it very personally. And you haven’t apologised.”  
  
Hermione blushed. Okay, so she could understand his anger. “I didn’t?”  
  
He shook his head slowly.  
  
“Oh. Well, I am. Sorry, I mean. I’m very sorry.”  
  
“Oh, joy, my aching body is turning all fluffy inside. Thank you, now I feel much better,” he said dryly, voice dripping of sarcasm.  
  
Hermione sighed and looked down. Maybe punishment wasn’t the right way to go. Her mind was too set on violence at the moment. But that wasn’t the way she usually dealt with him, was it? No, bribing was easier. What did Voldemort want, besides killing and torturing innocent people?  
  
“Do you think we can use this plan to break into Gringotts tomorrow night?” she asked, staring down at the table.  
  
“Yes, I believe so.”  
  
“And you’re certain Merlin’s vault is down there?”  
  
Voldemort sighed. “Yes, again, I’m certain. It’s the reason Gringotts was built: to protect Merlin’s tomb.”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and looked up again. “Good.”  
  
She walked around the table and stepped in between his legs. Voldemort looked up at her, his expression guarded. She slowly reached for his face and stroked his cheek with her fingers. He hadn’t shaved in almost two days, and she could feel the stubble. Uneven and hard, just like him.  
  
“I am sorry,” she said in a low voice. “It wasn’t just the situation with Althea. It’s hard … loving you. Sometimes I want to hurt you for not loving me back.”  
  
Voldemort closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. She continued to stroke his face, tracing his nose, eyebrows, and moving down to his lips. There, she stopped, staring at him. He was still so beautiful. He hadn’t aged a lot during the past ten years. Just some more lines in his face, if you looked closely. He didn’t like it, of course. Ageing led to death.  
  
“If you forgo the massacre, I will help you find a way to reach immortality.”  
  
He opened his eyes again, looking up at her. “What makes you think I need help?”  
  
Hermione snorted and let her hand drop away. “Your last plan was thwarted by three teenagers; I think you need all the help you can get.”  
  
He scowled at her.  
  
“Besides, it’s possible there’s something useful in Merlin’s vault,” Hermione continued. “But since we don’t have unlimited time to go through it, it’ll be helpful if we both look for a way to achieve immortality as well as what information there is about fairies.”  
  
His scowl lessened. “Anyone else would have died doing what you did to me, kitten. Merely looking for information hardly makes up for that.”  
  
“Well, I’m not saying I’ll stop looking after that. You know I’m good at researching, Voldemort. Two pairs of eyes catch more than one.”  
  
He regarded her for a short moment. “It’s a start. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow, but you have a lot to make up for.”  
  
She leaned down and kissed him softly. “I know.”  
  
Taking his hand, she led him out of the library and into the bedroom. Usually, the sex before bed was the longest and sweetest of the day, but on this particular night, they were too tired for anything spectacular. He did ride her hard, though, most likely out of anger, but he came quickly and rolled away, falling asleep within a minute. Hermione was left feeling unsatisfied.  
  
That didn’t happen often at all. Voldemort was evil and bad in many ways, but not when it came to sex. It could possibly be the bond talking; Hermione had nothing else to compare it with. She had heard other women talking about it though, and they made it sound as if an unselfish lover was hard to come by. Many men seemed to feel good if they made their lover come once a week, but they would be cranky as hell if they didn’t get to come during sex at all. Hermione found that unfair, and sexist. And lazy. At least when Voldemort made sure she didn’t come, she knew that it was because he was punishing her. Like now.  
  
Hermione sighed and turned to lie on her back. The problem was that she had trouble sleeping without an orgasm before bed. They made her so calm and relaxed. Now she was just hot and bothered.  
  
Good thing she still had vibrators.

 

xxx

  
“Dad, why are you growing a beard?” Alexandra asked, peeking out from her room, into the corridor. “And why is it the wrong colour?”  
  
“Go back to bed, Alex,” Voldemort replied, glancing at his clock again. Hermione should have been home by now. They had to leave in five minutes for their plan to work.  
  
“Are you going to get Althea now?” Alexandra asked, opening the door wider.  
  
“Not yet. We are going to get some things that will help us find her,” Voldemort explained, starting to get impatient, both with his wife and daughter.  
  
“Do you need a beard for that?”  
  
“Yes.” He paused. How did she know who he was? He didn’t look like himself.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Voldemort sighed and kneeled down next to his daughter. “Because your mother and I can’t be recognised. Thus, the white beard. How did you recognise me?”  
  
“I heard your walk,” she said, as if it were obvious. “Your eyes are wrong, too.”  
  
“I would hope so. But don’t worry, they will be back to the right way tomorrow when you wake up. Now, go back to bed. Ken is right down the hall if you need anything.” He stroked his daughter’s hair and then nudged her inside again, closing the door.  
  
In the same moment, Hermione Apparated into the room. He spun around, happy to see that she was already in disguise.  
  
“Where have you been?” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance.  
  
“Do you know how hard dragon candy is to come by?” Hermione replied, brushing her long white hair over her shoulder. Her new figure was small, round and old, but he could still see his Hermione in her eyes. However, he doubted anyone else would. It was a good glamour.  
  
“Yes, I do. Did you run into any problems?”  
  
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”  
  
“That’s my girl,” he purred. He was quite excited about breaking into Gringotts. The last time he did it, he had been using Quirrell’s body. He looked forward on doing it in his own, and with Hermione by his side as an extra wand.  
  
“Are we ready then?” she asked. She looked determined, but he could sense her nervousness. Good thing she could always keep a cool head.  
  
“Indeed.” He pressed her close to him and Apparated them to an alley behind Gringotts.  
  
“Put up the wards,” he ordered her once they regained their footing. This was the risky part of their break-in. He would make his own tunnel down to the Gringotts tunnels. However, it was impossible to dig a normal tunnel a mile down. Not only would there be an awful lot of dirt to remove, but ancient wards prevented it.  
  
Thus, Voldemort had invented his own way of doing it. He made the atoms in the ground vibrate so that he and Hermione could sink down through the ground. The wards were necessary since they would have to leave it open for their retreat; they couldn’t risk anyone stumbling over the tunnel while they were inside Gringotts.  
  
Hermione was therefore making very subtle repellent wards. If someone came close to the alley, they would immediately notice a foul smell and want to get away from it as soon as possible. There wasn’t really anything in the alley to begin with, so hopefully, no one would have a great urge to enter it.  
  
Voldemort drew a circle with a homemade paste. As he added the four runes needed to specify the length of the tunnel, Hermione came back to him.  
  
“All set,” she said.  
  
“Good. Stay back,” he ordered and rose from the ground. “ _Terra Commoveo_.”  
  
The brick ground turned blurred inside the circle. They waited a few seconds for the tunnel to become stable. He could feel how his magic worked through the ground. It was a skill very few wizards possessed.  
  
“So, now we just … step through?” Hermione asked. He could hear that she was nervous. Once they reached the end of the tunnel, there would be some flying required, and she didn’t like flying.  
  
“Yes. Just hold on to me and close your eyes.” Despite her fear, he knew she would be able to go through with it. His little kitten was nothing if not brave. Not that he minded seeing her scared. It gave him great amusement as well as a sense of power. He was never scared, of course. He was stronger than her.  
  
She stiffly put her arms around his waist and burrowed her head into his chest. Voldemort smiled. “Here we go.”  
  
With help of his magic, they jumped into the circle, immediately starting to sink downwards at great speed. Hermione let out a whimper and hugged him tighter. The sensation was like being stuck in a long, very tight jumper. It was warm and uncomfortable, but they couldn’t really move their arms and legs. Instead, they relied on gravity and magic to pull them downwards.  
  
He estimated the fall to take three minutes and was ready once their tunnel let go of them. Hermione let out a muffled shriek against his chest when they were suddenly free and falling through air. Voldemort, however, had everything under control. Flying without any other aid except your magic was another very difficult thing to do. It was even more difficult with someone clinging to you. It took a great deal of power and concentration. Thankfully, Voldemort had both.  
  
 _Wrap your legs around me_ , he told her through their mental link. They were flying downwards very fast, and he wasn’t sure she would have heard him if he had spoken out loud.  
  
 _OhMerlinohMerlinohMerlin_ , she muttered back, but she did manage to cling on to him with her legs as well as her arms.  
  
 _Perhaps we should try having sex while flying some other time_ , Voldemort mused. They still had quite a way to fly, and he didn’t want to listen to her scared manta the entire time.  
  
 _Oh, funny_ , Hermione sounded a bit hysterical. _If you try that with me, I’ll bite your cock off. By Merlin, you’ll feel pain you have never felt before._  
  
 _What have I told you about giving threats you won’t go through with? You love my cock too much to ever hurt it,_ he snickered. _Besides, I think you’d like it. I think the fear and adrenaline is making you wet right now._  
  
 _If I’m wet, it’s because I’ve peed myself_ , she replied, but she did sound slightly less afraid.  
  
He forced back a laugh. It was hard to stay angry at her when she was so amusing. Then again, he didn’t have to stay angry to take out his revenge on her. Whenever that would be. He still didn’t know what he should do. Perhaps he would simply let her make up for it herself, without him actively punishing her?  
  
Nah, it was too much fun to punish her. Especially when she knew she deserved it. But he would let her crawl in the dust for a few more days. She could be very creative in the ways she could please him. Especially in, but not limited to, the bedroom.  
  
 _Stop thinking about sex_. Hermione’s voice suddenly broke through into his mind. _We have work to do._  
  
 _I can think about sex and work at the same time,_ Voldemort promised her.  
  
 _Fine, do what_ _you want. You always do. How much longer is it?_  
  
 _I’m not sure. It’s not like I make a habit of breaking into Gringotts to visit Merlin’s tomb_ _on a regular basis._  
  
 _Great. What if there is some sort of defence we haven’t taken into consideration?_ she asked, sounding worried.  
  
 _Then we’ll have to improvise,_ he said. _We are reaching the dragons. Have the candy ready._  
  
 _How am I supposed to do that? I’m clinging on to you!_ she retorted.  
  
He wrapped both his arms tightly around her. _Do you really think I would let you fall? Now do as you are told._  
  
Muttering to herself, she let go with her right hand and started to fumble for the candy. Although, “candy” might not be a good word for it. It was more like a small bomb. Dragons were drawn to it because of the smell, but once a dragon touched it, the candy exploded, stunning everything around it. It wasn’t harmful for the dragon (Hermione had been very clear that she didn’t want to hurt anyone or anything), it just stunned them for a few hours.  
  
 _There they are_ , Voldemort told her. _Drop it … now!_  
  
With perfect precision, Hermione dropped the candy. Voldemort then suspended them in the air. There were three dragons beneath them, and they had to fly through the tunnel behind them to reach the deepest part of Gringotts. The dragons were ancient and naturally suspicious. The big, blue one sniffed the air with its tongue, just like a serpent. Voldemort remained as still as possible. If the dragon smelled them before the candy, they would no doubt start breathing fire, which in turn sounded the alarm.  
  
Thankfully, the candy was too alluring for them to stay away. The green dragon moved towards it, its huge chain rattling as it moved. Voldemort put up a shield around them, not wanting to be caught in the stunning charm.  
  
The explosion was soundless but created a blinding blue light. Even though he had shielded his eyes, Voldemort had to blink a few times before he was able to see again. Once he was certain all the dragons were unmoving, he started to fly downwards. They now had about half an hour before someone noticed someone else had used magic on the dragons. Hopefully, it would take another half an hour before they realised where the intruders were. By that time, they should be done and on their way back home.  
  
They reached the end of the tunnel that came out into a great cave. It should have been completely dark down there, but magic had been so infused in the stone that there was a blue shimmer illuminating the entire cave.  
  
 _You’ll want to see this,_ Voldemort told Hermione and made her turn around in the air.  
  
 _Oh dear Merlin_ , he heard her whisper in her mind.  
  
He had heard about the cave but never seen it. It was supposedly created by Merlin himself, as his final resting place. Water was glimmering at the bottom of the cave, its waves echoing across the walls. It was a majestic sight. This beauty was for someone very important.  
  
He continued to fly over the dark water. At the other end of the cave, there was a great arch carved into the cave wall. Voldemort flew towards it. The closer they came, the more details he could see. Runes infused with magic outlined it, and the power of the magic took Voldemort’s breath away. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Powerful, intimidating, dangerous. Oh, he could read those runes. It was a warning, a warning to anyone planning on intruding the tomb behind it.  
  
They landed on the platform. Hermione took a few stabilising steps away from him. “I hate flying.”  
  
He ignored her. The magic sang inside his head, a perfect tone, which advised him that the wards were intact. How to break through? He had expected wards, but not like this. It would take tremendous power to take it down. Or would it?  
  
In the middle of the arch, a tablet of stone hung. Voldemort walked up to it. “ _Why?_ ”  
  
“What?” Hermione asked, coming up to him. “Oh, the rune. What does it mean, ‘why’?”  
  
“‘ _Why_ ’ is always an excellent question,” Voldemort said slowly, his mind working furiously. “It’s a thing Slytherins learn to ask from the start. ‘Why should I do this?’, ‘Why should I help you?’, ‘Why do you want to be friends with me?’. Merlin was in Slytherin. He would have known this.”  
  
Hermione snorted. “What is it with Slytherins and trust issues? Why not?”  
  
“It’s healthier to be suspicious,” Voldemort said. “You live longer.”  
  
“Says Mr Paranoid,” Hermione muttered. “But if you are so all-knowing, how do we get inside?”  
  
“Well, brute force will probably work, but we could try by answering the question first,” Voldemort said, stepping back. “Place your hand on the tablet and tell it why we are here.”  
  
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “Are you joking with me?”  
  
“Not at all. Do it now. If you do recall, we don’t have all the time in the world. Just let the tablet know how much you want to find Althea.”  
  
“It’s a tablet!”  
  
“It’s a magical tablet. Stop wasting time. If it doesn’t work, we will try something else. We are doing this for Althea.”  
  
Voldemort gave her a pointed stare, and she sighed and walked up to the door. He wasn’t sure it would work, but if it did, it was better if there were someone with clear intent that touched it. He didn’t know if there were any type of magical scanning about to be done, but he knew he didn’t want to be scanned.  
  
Hermione placed her hand on the tablet. “I want to find knowledge that will help me rescue my daughter from fairies.”  
  
The arch groaned. Hermione looked startled. “I can’t move my han—” Then she was sucked into the archway.  
  
Voldemort rushed forward. “Hermione! Hermione! Can you hear me?”  
  
He banged the stone arch at the place where she had disappeared, but it remained as solid as it looked. He took a hold of his wand, ready to blast his ways in. However, before he had even managed to utter a spell, the arch groaned again. It was like an invisible hand had pushed him. Voldemort flew backwards, off the cliff they had been standing on and into the ice-cold water. His first instinct was to use his wand to get out of there. Only then did he realise that his wand wasn’t in his hand. He must have dropped it.  
  
He searched the water around him, but it was no use. The water was too dark for him to see anything. After a couple of dives down, he gave up. There was no way to find his wand this way, and his wandless Summoning Charm didn’t work either. Blasted Merlin. He decided to use his energy to swim back to the cliff instead. It wasn’t that far away.  
  
When he finally focused on getting back ashore, he noticed that his limbs were much longer than before. The water had removed his glamour. It must be the same kind of water as in the waterfall you drove through when using the carts. The water that removed all enchantments. That meant he wouldn’t be able to use magic while in contact with the water. Oh, that was just great.  
  
Cursing, he swam towards the cliff as quickly as he could. It still took longer than he had wished. His stamina was of a completely different sort, and his legs and arms were trembling by the time he reached the cliff. Then came the hard part, climbing up. He was wet and slippery, and his fingers were numb from the cold water. But he wouldn’t be Lord Voldemort if he let a stupid cliff wall beat him.  
  
Clenching his teeth together, he started to make his way up the wall. He had lost track of time when he finally heaved himself up on the cliff. For a moment, he allowed himself to just lie there and catch his breath. Hermione hadn’t come out yet. Was that a good or a bad sign? He had no idea if there were any traps in there. She could be dead, for all that he knew.  
  
No, that wasn’t true. He was sure he would know if she were dead. They shared a unique bond. He would know if something horrible happened to her. But she could still be trapped. What if she didn’t make it out?   
  
He tried summoning his wand again, but nothing happened. In fact, he couldn’t use his magic at all. To his great horror, he realised that the water was still stopping him from using his magic! What should he do? It would take hours to dry up, even if he removed all his clothes. It was too cold here.  
  
He needed a wand. If Hermione didn’t come out, then someone would come down to investigate. He could steal that person’s wand if he managed to lure that person to the ground. He was sure that if he just got a hold of a dry wand, he would be able to use it to dry himself and then use his magic as he was used to.  
  
But what if the one coming down to investigate was a goblin?  
  
He could reason with a goblin. He hadn’t stolen anything, so they would listen at least. There were lots of things the goblins wanted that he could help them with.  
  
Ignoring his wet, cold clothes, he rose, looking at the door again. This would all be for nothing if Hermione didn’t find anything useful. Oh, how he loathed having to rely on someone else. But if he had to, then Hermione was the one he would choose. At least she knew to look for the most important things.

 

xxx

  
The moment Hermione got sucked through the archway, she realised that Voldemort wouldn’t be coming with her. The tablet was clearly performing some sort of Legilimency, and he would not want to undergo that. She knew he had other reasons to why he would want to visit this place. Something told her greed wasn’t the way to get in, and she was sure her husband’s ulterior motives were very selfish.  
  
Lighting her wand, she discovered that she was inside a cave with crystal walls. The light from her wand was reflected in the crystals and made it as bright as if it was broad daylight.  
  
Her eyes were drawn to the huge coffin in the middle of the cave. It was made of something she recognised as black hematite. Behind it hung a full-size painting of who she presumed was Merlin himself. The style of the painting seemed to be from the Middle Ages before they had developed the technique of creating depth within the picture. It made the wizard appear very flat and cartoon-like.  
  
“Here lies the wizard Merlin,” she read out loud from the silver runes engraved on top of the coffin. “He will be remembered.”  
  
Well, that was true at least. She turned away from the coffin and started to scan the walls. She didn’t have a lot of time, so she first sought out the many scrolls of parchment. From the inside of her robe, she withdrew a bag which she had stuffed with parchment. It was bigger on the inside, and she hoped she had put enough paper and parchment in there for everything she wanted to copy.  
  
There wasn’t time to translate Merlin’s scrolls properly, so she merely tried to see what it was about and copied the ones she thought could be useful. The spell was simple and fast, working like a fax machine but even quicker than that. She just had to unroll the parchment, drag her wand over the text and then make a simple wand movement over a blank scroll of parchment.  
  
In thirty minutes time, she managed to copy almost fifty scrolls. She had seen the rune for fairy on some of them. However, some had just looked very interesting in general, and she had copied it for the fun of it. It wasn’t like she would get another opportunity like this again. All the copies were stuffed back into her bag.  
  
Once she were done with the scrolls, she went for the books. There weren’t many, but they were thick, so she made replicas of all of them. It was much harder work, so she didn’t have time to see what they contained, and she would rather take too much than too little. After fifteen minutes, she had replicas of the ten books inside her bag.  
  
Turning back towards the exit, her eyes fell on the shelves of objects. She hesitated. Who knew if Merlin had used any of them to defeat the fairies? What if they needed one of the objects to vanquish them?  
  
Stealing didn’t feel right, but …  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  
  
She spun around, her wand ready. “Who’s there?”  
  
“Just me. Well, and you, of course. Strange. It’s been a long time since I last had a visitor.”  
  
It was the full-size painting on the wall. Hermione stared, bemused. It wasn’t like the moving paintings in Hogwarts.  
  
“Don’t fret, dear. I’m just a memory in a painting,” the face of Merlin said in a cheerful tone. She couldn’t see the expression on the face since only the mouth moved in an awkward way, but the voice came out as clear and alive as if he had been in the room with her. Both his voice and bright-blue eyes reminded her a little of Dumbledore. Just as her old headmaster, Merlin also had a long, white beard.  
  
“Yes, I realise that. I just hadn’t realised moving paintings were around during your era. I thought the art of it wasn’t invented until the Fourteenth Century,” Hermione said, getting over the surprise of seeing him move and becoming excited instead.  
  
“Oh, so it took that long for my invention to reach common knowledge? Perhaps I should have told more people about it …” he trailed off, looking thoughtful.  
  
“Are you Merlin?” Hermione just had to ask.  
  
“Indeed I am. And who may you be?”  
  
“Hermione Granger. It’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for letting me come in and copy your scrolls and books.” She didn’t see the point in lying to him. The arch had used some sort of Legilimency before letting her through, so something must’ve approved of her. Hopefully, the painting would as well and could give her even more information.  
  
“Your daughter has been kidnapped by fairies; how could I keep you out? Although, I don’t like that husband of yours.”  
  
“Few do,” Hermione said with a smile. “Do you think you could help me, though? How did you defeat the fairies? And why?”  
  
“Ah, I’m afraid it is a tale too long for today. I may not disapprove of your visit, but there are others out there that do. You will get a much more satisfying answer out of the texts you have copied,” Merlin said, his voice kind.  
  
“So you think I have everything I need to get my daughter back? I wasn’t sure if I needed some sort of object.”  
  
Merlin’s smile looked awkward in the painting. “You managed to copy all my knowledge of the fairies, at least. If it’s enough to bring back your daughter, I cannot say. I have been dead for quite some time, and I don’t know how the fairies have evolved. If they have managed to kidnap a child at all, they must have regained some power in our world.”  
  
“They have used my daughter’s magic,” Hermione said. For some reason, she was certain that Merlin’s painting was trying to help her. There was something trustworthy about the voice.  
  
“Have they indeed? That’s worrying. Well, I do hope my knowledge will help you. But don’t steal my things. If you do, I’ll have to throw you out, as I did with your husband.”  
  
“You did what?” she asked, not sure if she should be amused or worried.  
  
“He was about to force his way inside. I didn’t very much like that. You can go out now and see for yourself.”  
  
“Is that it?” Hermione asked, surprised over how smoothly it had all gone.  
  
“I’ve been dead too long to care about what secrets I may have had over a millennia ago. If you have use for it, then, by all means, read it. I didn’t have any children of my own, but I know what it’s like to worry about them. However, I don’t approve of thieving. Those objects are infused with my magic, and they keep me company here,” Merlin explained in a conversational tone.  
  
“So I don’t need them to destroy the fairies?”  
  
“Oh yes, you will. But you are a clever girl, Hermione; you’ll be able to create your own versions of them,” he said happily.  
  
With a last glance at the magical objects, she sighed and nodded. “Well, I guess I should be leaving, then.”  
  
“Yes, I think you should. I fear your visit has been noticed. Your husband needs you,” Merlin said.  
  
Hermione cursed and sealed the bag, wrapping it around her neck and putting it inside her clothes, next to her body. She didn’t want to lose that now.  
  
“How do I get out?” Hermione asked, hurrying to the wall through which she had got in.  
  
“You just walk,” Merlin replied. “Thank you for the visit.”  
  
“No, thank you for all your help!” she called and walked through the wall.  
  
It was just like walking to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. However, stepping into the other side was nothing like King’s Cross. Far on the other side of the cave, she could see wizards on brooms flying in.  
  
Surprisingly, Voldemort wasn’t attacking yet. He just stood there, eyeing them as they got closer.  
  
“What are you doing?” she called as she ran up to him. That was when she realised he looked like himself, not wearing the glamour as they came here with. And he was dripping wet.  
  
He snatched her wand from her hand. In just one second, he was dry and wearing his glamour. Another second had him shooting down one of the wizards.  
  
“Hey, give that back!” Hermione growled, trying to get her wand back.  
  
“Not now,” Voldemort growled back, pushing her behind him.  
  
There were four other wizards left. One of them seemed to be shouting something, but the voice echoed around the wall, and Hermione had a hard time hearing the words. Not that she cared. They had already started to throw disarming spells at them.  
  
“What happened to your wand?” she asked, not having any choice but to stand behind him, unless she wanted to get hit by the spells.  
  
“Water. Dropped it,” he answered shortly in between blocking and firing spells of his own.  
  
“You are a wizard! Summon it!”  
  
Even though he kept his eyes on the approaching wizards, she knew his scowl was meant for her. “I was just about to. Take it,” he ordered as the wand flew up from the water.  
  
“Shouldn’t we try running?” she asked as she joined him in the fighting. His wand worked almost as well for her as her own did.  
  
“We need to get past them,” he pointed out and effectively shot down another wizard from his broom. “This won’t take long.”  
  
As the wizard dropped into the water, the three remaining wizards reached them. Hermione didn’t recognise any of them as Aurors. They had to be Gringotts own security. That was both good and bad news. The good news was that they weren’t as disciplined or organised as Aurors. The bad news was that they were the “attack first, ask questions later” kind of wizards. They were also known for being ruthless in their attacks.  
  
Indeed, it didn’t take long until the three wizards had started to use more dangerous spells than disarming and stunning spells. Of course, it could be because Voldemort had started with much darker spells. It annoyed her. He was a great duellist, and if he got the opportunity to strike, he could have used a disarming spell. Then again, he had been the Dark Lord, taking joy in hurting others came with the title. She could bribe him when they were alone, but not in the moment of battle.  
  
To smooth things over, she made attempts to just knock the wizards off their brooms. Once they were in the water, she and Voldemort could fly away. However, these wizards were much more skilled than she had thought. They also had the advantage of brooms. They could fly up and down, left and right to get away from an attack. Hermione and Voldemort were on the ground, with little room for moving.  
  
Hermione let out a cry of pain when a Slicing Curse cut through her left shoulder. She could feel blood starting to run down her arm, but she didn’t have time to look. Two of the wizards had focused their attack on her, while the third put up a defence shield to stop Voldemort’s curses. It seemed she had clearly underestimated their ability to work as a team.  
  
However, hurting her didn’t seem to be the best way to stop Lord Voldemort. A huge pillar of Fiendfyre appeared, going straight for the wizard who had cast the Slicing Curse. The one next to him got caught in the fire as well. Once they were dead and the fire had disappeared, Voldemort glanced at Hermione. Hermione scowled at him, both showing that she was okay and that she was displeased with his actions. He smirked and turned back to take down the last wizard.  
  
Hermione saw the spell just before Voldemort did. She threw up a shield, but was too slow. Voldemort didn’t have a chance. For all his experience and power, he had done the one thing that you should never do. He had looked away from his opponent.  
  
The spell hit him straight in the chest. He screamed. Hermione screamed as well, but for a different reason. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be hurt. He was Lord Voldemort. The man she loved. Her husband. No, she wouldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t allow more people picking on her family. No. One. Hurt. Her. Family.  
  
“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” she cried.  
  
The last wizard had been too gleeful with his victory that he didn’t see it coming. The flash of green hit him straight on, and he fell off his broom, stone-dead.  
  
She didn’t wait to watch his corpse hit the water. She rushed to Voldemort’s side. He was still conscious, but it was hard for him to breathe. He grabbed her arm once she fell down on her knees next to him.  
  
“Think!” he hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
She could see that he was in a lot of pain. A fast diagnostic showed that the curse was burning his flesh away, fast.  
  
“What curse is it? How do I stop it?” she asked. Panic wanted to overthrow her, but she wouldn’t let it. She had to heal him and get them out of here. Then she could panic.  
  
He didn’t talk; instead, he used their mind connection to show her what the counter spell was. Alas, it didn’t remove the damage, just stopped it from spreading. They would need a potion for that, and he had it at home.  
  
“I have to fly us out of here,” she realised once she administered the counter spell.  
  
“Yes,” he hissed. Even though the spell had stopped, the burnt flesh had to hurt like hell.  
  
She would have to put him in stasis so it wouldn’t get worse. Even though he wouldn’t die in the next few minutes, she didn’t know if the curse had reached his inner organs already. And the pain would turn even severer when they were moving.  
  
“Show me how to fly,” she said and went into his mind again.  
  
Once he had provided the knowledge, she put him into stasis. Voldemort’s eyes flashed in alarm when he realised what she was doing. She knew he would be angry when he woke up. He hated being made powerless. But it was either this, or the pain would make him pass out once they started to move.  
  
His body became heavy, and she managed to catch his head before it hit the ground. Taking back her own wand and putting his in the safety of her bag, she made him float up and hung him against her back, using a sticking charm to keep him there. If she met any more resistance, she wanted her view clear, and the ability to move her arms.  
  
With a deep breath, she pushed away, starting to fly. If this had been during normal circumstances, she would never have been able to do it. The magic worked on intent, and there was a great part of her that wanted to stay on the ground. However, these were not normal circumstances. Voldemort’s life depended on her. Fear would have to wait together with panic.  
  
Once she felt she got the flying under control, she started to move faster. She didn’t look down; she kept her eyes on where she was going. It was all a blur from there. When she later told Voldemort about what had happened, she couldn’t remember much. Some goblins spotted her, but she flew too fast for them to catch her. The hole they had made was still open, and the three minutes up were a daze.  
  
She destroyed the magical circle with a swish of her wand, and then, she Apparated them back home. It was well after midnight. Hermione moved on autopilot, not allowing herself to stop and feel. All she thought about was what she had to do next: Remove his clothes, examine the damage, get the potions that would heal the internal damage, administrate it, put on the paste that would heal the wound, and then, finally wake him up and see if it had worked.  
  
  


 


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the delay in updating. This story is reaching its end, and I have to make there are no loose ends. I hope you won’t have to wait as long for the next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for spending so much time betaing this chapter. You are awesome, have a cookie. I’d also like to thank everyone else for reading and reviewing.
> 
>  
> 
> Review replies can be found here: http://tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet

**Chapter 40**  
  
Voldemort had to force himself not to scream. It helped that he felt too weak to scream. Strange. Why was he so weak? The curse wouldn’t have made him feel weak, only feel pain.  
  
Healing potion. His magnificent brain came up with the answer in a fraction of a second. Hermione had knocked him out. She must have taken him home and healed him. Or rather, started to heal him. If he had been completely healed, he wouldn’t feel this much pain.  
  
“Voldemort?” Her voice was low. Scared. She was scared. Of him? No. For him. She was worried about him.  
  
He opened his eyes. They were in their bedroom. He was lying on the bed, naked. Oh, she always loved seeing him naked. Naughty kitten. The thought made him giggle.  
  
Great, she had given him _that_ healing potion. The one that made you act like you had drunk an entire bottle of vodka. Good thing he had such a high tolerance for …  
  
“You are as pretty as a pony!”  
  
Then again, maybe not. _Fuck._  
  
Hermione’s face softened in relief. She knew how potent the healing potion was as well. Undoubtedly, she had wanted him to be all unfocused and drunk.  
  
“How are you feeling?” she asked, taking his hand and squeezing it.  
  
He smiled. “I’m going to rip your brain out through your nostrils and feed it to the cat.”  
  
She arched an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have a cat.”  
  
He frowned. They didn’t? Oh, that’s right. She had wanted to get the girls a cat. They hadn’t got around to it. “I’ll have to come up with something else. You knocked me out.”  
  
“It was for your own good. The pain would have knocked you out otherwise,” she said, clearly not taking his threats seriously. That was stupid of her. He was very serious. As serious as … a lamb pie.  
  
“So how are you feeling?” she asked again.  
  
“Like you gave me a too heavy dose of the healing slash pain-relieving potion,” he said and tried to sit up. That was not a very good idea. The pain increased, and his head started to spin. He fell back down against the pillow.  
  
“I wouldn’t try to move yet. I put on the healing paste just fifteen minutes ago. It will take some time before your skin grows back,” she said.  
  
“This is internal pain,” Voldemort muttered. Even though he might not be in complete control over his mouth and thoughts, he wasn’t stupid. “The curse must have reached some internal organs before you managed to stop it.”  
  
“Oh. Yes. Well, the potion will take care of that overnight. Do you want something to help you sleep?”  
  
“Oh no, you don’t, kitten. I will not be knocked out again,” he said, making another attempt to sit up.  
  
Right, he had already done that. Once again, it proved to be a bad idea.  
  
“Just lie still,” Hermione ordered him. “Do you want anything else?”  
  
He looked up at her again. Then, he frowned. There was something wrong with her shoulder. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. “You’re hurt?”  
  
Hermione followed his eyes. “Ah, I’d forgotten about that. Well, it seems to have dried up. I’ll just clean it off in the bathroom.”  
  
“Nooooo, stay here. Strip for me?” he asked.  
  
She eyed him in disbelief. “You are in no position to have sex with me right now.”  
  
“I want to see you naked!” he whined.  
  
“You have seen me naked millions of time,” she argued, but to his great delight, she vanished her clothes and went to the dresser to look into the mirror.  
  
He hummed at seeing her pretty arse sway as she moved. Salazar, she was a perfect witch. His witch. His kitten.  
  
“It’s just a scratch,” Hermione said, and he watched as she disinfected the wound.   
  
Several bottles of potions stood on the desk. He recognised the one she had given him. It was half-empty. Oh, she would regret that in the morning. He might not allow anyone else to hurt her, but he could— Hold on. She had not allowed anyone else to harm him either.   
  
“You killed for me,” he remarked.  
  
She froze. He could see her expression in the mirror. For a moment, she looked guilty; but when she turned around, her face had hardened.  
  
“You killed for me,” she replied with a shrug.  
  
“Yes. But I do that. They hurt you, and no one can hurt you. I won’t let them. But you are not me. You killed. Again. But for me this time.”  
  
Halfway through his ramble, she had started to frown. She looked like she was considering something for the first time.  
  
“You looked at me,” she said slowly.  
  
“I look at you all the time. You are quite the looker. Good looker.” He giggled again.  
  
“No. You looked at me to see if I was okay. That was when you got hit with the curse. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t looked at me. Why did you look at me?”  
  
He frowned. What sort of stupid question was that? “You screamed. They hurt you. I had to make sure you weren’t bleeding to death, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yes, but you did it before you had taken care of the last wizard,” she commented and walked back to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. For some reason, she seemed happy. “You were worried.”  
  
He slowly took her hand and squeezed it. “You aren’t making any sense, kitten.”  
  
“I killed for you because the sight of seeing you hurt made me angry. Because I love you. You did the same for me.”  
  
A smile spread over his face. “You are so cute when you are fooling yourself. I don’t love.”  
  
“So, then what? You act as if you do.”  
  
“You are mine. It’s as simple as that. Simple as pie. Or blueberry muffins. Do we have blueberry muffins? I want some.”  
  
For a moment, Hermione just sat there. Then her face broke out in a smile and she leaned down to kiss him. He didn’t mind; he liked her kisses. He had never liked kissing people before he met her. Fuck? Sure. But not kiss.  
  
“I’ll be right back with the muffin,” she said and got up, wrapping her dressing gown around her before she left the room.  
  
She was so peculiar, his wife.

 

xxx

  
Alexandra opened the door to her parents’ room. It was always risky, but she and Althea had learned to open the door soundlessly and then listen to see if it was safe enough to look in. Once you had seen your father's naked behind once, you weren’t too keen on seeing it again. Alexandra did understand why their father had made up the rule of always knocking and waiting until someone opened their door. The problem was that Alexandra wasn’t too keen to follow her father’s rules. It always took so long for them to open, and sometimes they didn’t even hear. This time, she just wanted to know that they were home.  
  
When she couldn’t detect any grunts, screams or moving furniture, she peeked through the opening. They were asleep. Satisfied to know that they were back, Alexandra closed the door and went down the corridor to the library. She knew what magic would take her to her sister now, but she was nervous. Even though the magic book didn’t say a wand was necessary, Alexandra was uncertain if she had the power to do it. And what if she failed? The magic book had many warnings about what would happen if you failed.  
  
Therefore, she wanted to read it again, just to be sure she had it right, in case she needed to go and get her sister. She was still counting on her parents, though. She was certain the only reason they hadn’t got Althea back yet was because of those mean Aurors. If her parents just got to work, they would no doubt get her sister back. But if something happened to her parents again, she wanted to be able to do it. Alexandra would not let her sister suffer.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort woke up with a pounding headache, feeling nauseated. His chest was aching as well. What the fuck had he done last night?  
  
Oh, right. Gringotts. Curse. Healing. Something about a blueberry muffin. He groaned. Oh, right, _that_ healing potion.  
  
“Her-mi-ne,” he slurred. It felt like cotton was growing inside his mouth. He needed water.  
  
“Hmm?” He felt Hermione move next to him.  
  
“Wat-er,” he ordered.  
  
She stretched next to him, the mattress dipping as she got up. He opened his eyes just a little. The headache made it hard to see. He would need some sort of pain reliever. One of the problems with the healing potion from last night was that it had withdrawal effects that needed to be dealt with through another potion. Hermione seemed to know that, too, because after she had given him some water, she handed him a small bottle with a normal pain relief potion.  
  
The effect was instantaneous. The thunderclouds in his head disappeared, and his stomach stopped rolling around. Only the aching in his chest and nausea remained. He ignored that. He was the master of his own body, and he would be damned if a little pain stopped him.  
  
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to inspect the wound.  
  
“How are you feeling today?” she asked and dropped down on the bed again, drawing the covers over her body. She liked cuddling in the morning.  
  
“Fine,” he replied shortly. He was not in the mood for cuddling. Instead, he got up and removed the bandages she had placed over the wound. It was a big area on the right side of his body, beginning just below his ribs and up to his shoulder. The skin was red and tender when he touched it, but it was healing nicely. The one who had thrown the curse wasn’t very good at Dark Arts. If he had cast it, the wound would have been much harder to heal.  
  
Not that there would have been anyone left to heal, mind you.  
  
“You seem cranky,” Hermione commented.  
  
“I can’t imagine why,” he muttered and began to smear some more healing paste on the wound. It wouldn’t do for it to leave a scar. That would be hard to explain in case anyone saw him without a shirt. “Did you get what we fought for, at least?”  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said, as if she had just remembered. “They are still in my bag, though. All energy I had left last night was spent healing you. We will have to sort through them.”  
  
“I’ll do that,” Voldemort said and went over to where she had thrown the bag. “Go down and get breakfast.”  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow, but she did rise from the bed. “You’re sure you know what to look for?”  
  
“As I recall, I know a bit more about fairies than you,” Voldemort snapped, opening the bag.  
  
“Fine,” Hermione replied, sighing.  
  
It surprised him. He had been sure she would be all over the books. Perhaps she was finally learning to trust his judgement? Voldemort snorted softly. No. It was more likely that she felt sorry for him because he had been cursed. Ah, well, as long as it kept her out of his way.  
  
“What do you want?” Hermione asked, going for her dressing gown.  
  
“Just toast and tea,” he said, digging through the bag after the scrolls and books as she wrapped the dressing gown around her.  
  
“Are you sure? The healing must have taken its toll. You’ll need your strength,” Hermione said.  
  
He sent her an annoyed glance. “And the healing potions left me feeling sick. Not to mention that I still feel sick because of the aftereffects from the Cruciatus Curse. I won’t be able to keep more down.”  
  
As he had expected, that made her look guilty. Excellent. If he were feeling miserable, then she should, too. True, he could ignore his sore muscles, upset stomach and aching head, but it became even easier when he got to see someone else suffering as well.  
  
Voldemort returned to bed with the books and scrolls. He would need space so he could sort through which text he should prioritise. He had no idea what to expect from Merlin. For his time, Merlin had been brilliant and innovative when it came to magic. However, over a thousand years had passed, and Voldemort wasn’t certain everything in Merlin’s scroll would be new to him. There was a great chance most of Merlin’s magical theories had already been spread and developed, or even thought of by someone else. Voldemort wasn’t one who thought the secrets of magic lay in the past, he was certain it lay with ambition, creativity and hard work. The past could help, and would certainly help with Althea, but it would probably not help Voldemort’s own quests.  
  
Thus, he sorted the books and scrolls in three piles: useless, interesting-for-later and about-fairies. He was just finished when Hermione returned with Alexandra in tow.  
  
“Have you made the scrolls indestructible?” Hermione asked, stopping with the breakfast tray in front of the bed.  
  
“No, I thought we could use the priceless scrolls we worked so hard to get as napkins,” Voldemort replied, rolling his eyes. A stupid question deserved a stupid answer.  
  
Hermione sighed but didn’t comment. Instead, she placed the tray at the end of the bed.  
  
“What are those?” Alexandra asked, coming to sit on the bed, next to the tray.  
  
“Scrolls. Don’t rearrange them,” Voldemort ordered and accepted the plate with toast Hermione was offering.  
  
“What are they about?” Alexandra asked.  
  
“We aren’t sure yet, sweetheart,” Hermione said, sitting down at her side of the bed.  
  
Alexandra carefully opened one of the books. “Why are they written in this strange way?”  
  
“They are very old,” Hermione explained.  
  
“Will they help find Althea?” Alexandra looked hopeful.  
  
“That’s the plan,” Voldemort replied and unrolled another scroll as he took a bite of the toast.  
  
“Can I help? I’ve read this book—” Alexandra started.  
  
“The only way you can help is by keeping quiet,” Voldemort interrupted her. The text was hard enough to read without her constant chatter.  
  
However, Alexandra, being seven, and immature and all, immediately became upset. She jumped off the bed and ran out.  
  
Hermione scowled at him. “What was that good for?”  
  
“It kept her quiet, didn’t it? Do I have to do the same to you now?”  
  
Hermione rose from the bed and gathered two of the scrolls he had put in the fairy pile.  
  
“What are you doing? I was going to read those!” Voldemort growled, making an attempt to grab them. However, movement caused his sore skin to stretch in a most painful way, and he groaned.  
  
There was no sympathy in Hermione’s eyes now. “I will forgive you, because I know you are in pain and, well, you. But I won’t be around for you to pick on. I’ll translate these in the library. You can come out when you are able to play nice.”  
  
She marched out and slammed the door shut behind her. Voldemort let out a content sigh. Finally. Now he could work in peace.

 

xxx

  
Going through Merlin’s scrolls went painfully slow for Hermione. He had clearly never meant for these scrolls to be read by others, thus the notes were as confusing as Ron’s notes in school. Luckily for Hermione, this had given her some practice, and by the end of the day, she thought she finally understood Merlin’s pattern.  
  
He got an idea, played with it for a while, and then, dismissed it after a series of tests. She didn’t exactly understand how he tested his ideas, but he had created his own grading scale, and _that_ she could understand. Something called the fire-prison-bind had a small star painted next to it, while the blood-sucker-healing had a small spider painted next to it. The star, she was quite certain meant success, while the spider meant failure. Then there were four other grades: tree, snake, half-moon and sword.  
  
So far, she had realised that the tree meant the spell would be developed, since she found other writings about it in later scrolls, while the half-moon meant that it was half-interesting to continue. She wasn’t sure what the snake or the sword meant yet, but she didn’t spend too much time focusing on them. The ideas about the fairies all had spider, tree or half-moon next to them, so she worked with those.  
  
Fairies seemed to have been even more annoying back in the day. Merlin had listed the things he needed to stop them from doing: stealing children, making the earth of poor farmers bleed, and destroying magical wards. At first, it was the destroying of magical wards that annoyed him, and he tried to find a way to keep fairies out. None of those ideas worked, and he started to think about how to limit the fairies’ powers.  
  
When she was right in the middle of his latest ideas involving the four elements of nature, as well as magic, the scroll came to an end. Hermione fell back in her armchair and rubbed her eyes. When she looked up again, she saw Alexandra had fallen asleep on the armchair next to hers. It was already dark outside. How long had she been reading? It felt like it was just a few minutes ago when she had taken a break to make dinner.  
  
Her wrist ached after all the writing she had done, translating Merlin’s text. Perhaps it was time to go to bed and continue tomorrow or at least make it to bed to see what Voldemort had come up with. He hadn’t left their room for the whole day. Ken had taken dinner up to him, but that was all.  
  
“Alex,” Hermione said softly, nudging her daughter, removing the book in her lap and placing it on the table. “Don’t you think you’ll be more comfortable in bed?”  
  
“Mm,” Alexandra simply muttered but rose nonetheless.  
  
Hermione smiled and led the half-asleep girl to her room. She was already in her nightgown, and Hermione recalled Alexandra coming in, asking if she could read in the library before bed earlier in the evening. That must have been hours ago.  
  
Glancing at the clock in the hallway, she saw that it was already past midnight. Way too late for Alexandra to be up. Although, unlike Althea, Alexandra seemed to feel quite good, even if she got one night of bad sleep. However, Hermione still felt that it was a good thing they had decided not to let her go back to school until Althea had been found. Children needed lots of sleep.  
  
Once her youngest daughter were in bed, Hermione made her way to her own bedroom. Voldemort was still sitting in the bed, seemingly naked under the covers. He looked up when she entered, and she could see that he wasn’t angry anymore.  
  
“Found something?” he asked, sounding curious.  
  
“I’m not sure. The scroll ended right when Merlin was describing a theory about the elements of nature and—”  
  
“Oh, I read the rest of that,” Voldemort interrupted her, looking around on the heaps of scrolls and books on the bed before picking a scroll up. “Here. Explains how he put them out of phase with the rest of the world. You have read about dimensions in Muggle physics, yes?”  
  
“I do make a habit of reading the books we have in our library,” Hermione said dryly as she sat down on the bed. “But Merlin was alive a thousand years ago; they didn’t know about physics then.”  
  
“Things can be discovered many times before they become public knowledge,” Voldemort said, withdrawing three scrolls from a heap. “The problem was that he didn’t succeed to send them to another dimension. He hadn’t counted on their anchors in this world.”  
  
“Anchors? And what do you mean fail? I thought Merlin had wanted the fairies to tell him about their magic, so that’s why he made it so they were still a part of this world, just unable to interfere.”  
  
“People make up stories when they find out their idols aren’t perfect,” Voldemort said, waving it away. “Merlin was great, but he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t seem to have known about the fairies usages of diamonds.”  
  
Hermione searched her memory, but she couldn’t recall reading about it in Merlin’s scrolls. The only time she had heard about it was from Voldemort. “They store magic in diamonds.”  
  
“Precisely. And thus, he couldn’t send them away to another dimension. They clinged onto this, like ghosts.”  
  
“But they lost their magic,” Hermione commented. “If Merlin failed, how come they got weaker?”  
  
“I didn’t say he failed completely, just that he failed,” Voldemort answered. “I have the spell he used here, but I have no idea how he got it to work at all. But I think, if we add the diamonds to the equations, _we_ can make it work and banish them to another dimension.”  
  
Hermione frowned. “What about Althea?”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find her once the fairies are gone,” Voldemort said, seemingly happy with his plan.  
  
“No, I mean, Althea has got fairy magic inside her. She is another anchor. What are we to do with her?”  
  
Voldemort’s smile disappeared, and he sank back against the headboard.  
  
“You didn’t even consider that?” Hermione asked in disbelief.  
  
“I did,” he said slowly.  
  
“And?”  
  
“I’m not certain what will be the best approach,” Voldemort continued. “There is chance that she will be banished together with the fairies. Or that she ...” he trailed off.   
  
However, Hermione could see his meaning clearly enough. “If you are even considering killing our daughter, I’ll kill you.”  
  
He snorted.  
  
Hermione clenched her hands. “This is all for nothing if she dies, Voldemort. I will kill you.”  
  
“I’m not considering to kill her, Hermione,” Voldemort said softly. “But the spell is complicated enough as it is. Adding Althea … I’m not certain it will work.”  
  
“So, we will come up with something else!” Hermione cried.  
  
“Oh yes, that won’t be hard at all,” Voldemort muttered.  
  
Hermione slapped his arm. “We will just have to go about this differently! We have more knowledge about the fairies now. Why don’t we just find them and bring her back first? The Blood Magic will keep her safe here, until we have done something permanently to stop the fairies.”  
  
“We have knowledge about how the fairies acted before Merlin cast the spell on them, not afterwards.”  
  
“How much could they have changed? They are still stealing children!” Hermione cried.  
  
Voldemort blinked, sitting up straight again. “What did you say?”  
  
“Merlin wrote that they had been stealing children before. I have it … here,” Hermione said, withdrawing one of the scrolls she had read earlier. “He could help the parents to get the children back. But it wasn’t the main reason why he decided to stop them. He was more worried about their ward-breaking capabilities.”  
  
Voldemort breezed through the scroll. “Ah, yes. It says here that he thought the parents had themselves to blame for making some sort of agreement with the fairies, and they were stupid for not realising it themselves that they could … just make whatever they got out from the agreement cease to be,” Voldemort said, sounding grim.  
  
“Yeah, but I never did— Oh,” Hermione said. “ _You_ had an agreement with the fairies.”  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “They never said anything about taking my daughter. I wasn’t even planning on having a daughter. They made it sound as if getting my soul back and keeping it intact was the price.”  
  
“What good would that do them?” Hermione asked, annoyed over his stupidity. “Couldn’t you have figured out that they wanted something more?”  
  
“I probably could have, but I’m certain they went into my mind to put any worries I may have had at ease,” Voldemort grumbled and pulled a hand through his hair.  
  
“Is there any way to break the agreement?” Hermione asked. “If we could make their claim on Althea invalid, maybe their magic will disappear from her as well? As if it never existed.”  
  
“I got this body in that agreement,” Voldemort stated.  
  
“So?”  
  
“So even if we find a way to break it, that means I’ll change back to what I looked like before I got this body.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Hermione, do you remember what I looked like? With Potter around looking for the truth about who I am—”  
  
“So we will change your body back to this again, later!” Hermione exclaimed. “Surely, you must know how to do that?”  
  
She could see that Voldemort was considering this. “I do. But I’m not even sure we can break the agreement. And even if we can do that, it’s not certain it will get us Althea back. They’ve got her, physically.”  
  
“So, we will do the calculations for breaking the agreement. If we can conclude that the fairy magic will disappear from Althea if we cast it, we can immediately do Merlin’s spell which will send them off into neverland before they suspect anything, and then, we can get Althea,” Hermione growled. Did she have to think about everything herself?  
  
“That’s all good and well, but how do you suggest we break the agreement? And how do we know if it has worked?”  
  
Even though he sounded doubtful, Hermione could see that he was thinking, and she felt confident that they were going to figure something out. They finally had something resembling a plan.  
  
“For this to even begin to work, I need more magic,” Voldemort finally said, his eyes growing hungry. “Being cursed takes its toll.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we finish researching first?” Hermione asked, even though she felt her whole body responding at his look.  
  
“I want to be at my best while researching. And I think you would feel better with some extra magical energy, too, especially after how much you must have used to heal me last night. Besides, I think we have gone long enough with sex, wouldn’t you agree?” He pulled her towards him.  
  
Hermione nodded, even though a big part of her still wanted to research. But that was only her mind. Her body craved him more than her next breath once she became horny. She longed for the blissfulness. There had been too much stress lately, and her body screamed for relaxation. That Voldemort could use the magic from her was just an excuse. A legit excuse, but it wasn’t the reason why she caved once his hands were on her body.  
  
She was addicted, and he was her fix.  
  
“I’ll try something new,” Voldemort breathed once she was naked and straddling him.  
  
“Fine, fine,” Hermione said, stroking and kissing his face and chest.  
  
“Don’t let go,” he told her as he pushed inside her with a groan. “I have never done this, so I hope I’ll have enough concentration for both.”  
  
“Done wha— VOLDEMORT!” she shrieked as she felt them rising from the bed, flying up towards the ceiling.  
  
She wrapped her legs and arms tighter around him, her heart beating rapidly in fear. Even after yesterday, it seemed her fear of flying hadn’t disappeared. Not even a little bit.  
  
“Oh, sweet Salazar, yes, I knew this would be worth it,” Voldemort groaned, moving inside her in short, fast strokes. “Your cunt tightens up in the most delicious way when you’re afraid.”  
  
“Put me down, now!” Hermione screamed, trying to reach something solid to hold on to, but everything was too far away.  
  
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, turning them around in the air so they were lying horizontally in the air, him on top of her.  
  
Hermione whimpered and immediately wrapped both arms around his back. It didn’t matter that the bed was right under her, or that she knew she wouldn’t fall far, she hated flying. If she could, she would have strangled him, but she was afraid to let go of his back. When they came down, she would spank him to the next millennia.  
  
“I was right,” he groaned into her ear. “The fear is making you dripping wet. You love this.”  
  
“You are delusional,” she spat; although, now when he mentioned it, her sex was pulsating like crazy and her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, like it did when she was about to reach a climax.  
  
She couldn’t get an orgasm! What if she lost her grip of him?  
  
“Come for me, Hermione,” Voldemort growled in her ear. “Give me the magic.”  
  
His hand found her breast and started to play with it at the same time as he nibbled her neck in the way she loved. She gasped, pressing her nails into his back. Merlin, he was evil. Selfish, ruthless, but oh, why couldn’t he move faster?  
  
As if he had read her thoughts, he did something that made them both move against each other, fast and hard. She had no control over her own muscles, he moved her with magic. All she could do was cling on as she felt her release come closer and closer, and the magical energy singing. She felt Voldemort absorb it greedily, and for a change, he was even giving her some of it as well.  
  
The orgasm was sudden, and the fear made it more powerful than she was used to. She tried holding on, but her arms and legs started shaking. His body was sweaty as well, making it slippery.  
  
Just as he came, she lost her grip. She screamed as she fell down on the bed. But it was not even two meters down, and the bed was soft. She bounced only once and then lay there, trembling in fear and afterglow. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she acknowledged that Voldemort had at least removed all the books and scrolls from the bed before she fell. That was something.  
  
Voldemort floated down, landing on his side next to her. Chuckling, he stroked her body and leaned down to kiss her cheek.  
  
“That was fun,” he mumbled, his hand reaching her sex.  
  
To her great surprise, he pushed his three middle fingers inside, his thumb coming to rest on her clitoris.  
  
“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” she gasped, trying to push his hand away, but her arms had no strength.  
  
“Now, don’t be like that,” Voldemort said, licking a trail of tears from her cheek. “I thought you said that you’d make it up to me, after you tortured me. This is making up.”  
  
“I thought you’d wait and see what I found—”  
  
“And I have,” he interrupted her. “You’ve pleased me with that as well. But don’t, for a second, think that is enough, Hermione Jean Granger.”  
  
He flexed his fingers inside her, making her sex throb in pleasure.  
  
“There are many things I’ve wanted to try. Sexually. We don’t have time to explore them tonight, of course, and we still do have our daughter to find. But once we have, I think I’ll tie you to a bed for a few days and try those things out. Well, those things that required you to be tied up.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and started to massage her clit with his thumb.  
  
Hermione moaned in pleasure, even though there was still some fear lingering. What could he possibly be talking about? Hadn’t they done pretty much everything there was to do sexually? Okay, so the flying thing was new, but other than that? They had done every position in the book. She had even got a transfigured penis, and they had fucked each other in the arse!  
  
He forced a fourth finger into her cunt as well, pushing them in and out, still flicking her clit. “There is a world of pain and pleasure you have yet to be introduced to. Whipping. Flogging. You may not be a submissive, but that isn’t necessary. It will be a punishment.”  
  
Hermione’s heart beat rapidly in fear and arousal. She didn’t like pain. He had used a knife on her once, ages ago. Even though that went well, she wasn’t keen on doing something like it again. But she had said she would pay for torturing him …  
  
“Just think about how pretty your back will be, covered in red wounds,” Voldemort whispered, suddenly pressing his thumb inside her sex as well. “I know where to hit, so I won’t damage any internal organs … unless I want to. I can make you bleed and still have you crying out for more. And you know how much I like it when you bleed for me, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione let out a groan when he forced his entire fist up her cunt. Years of sex and two births had made her much more loose, but not really that loose. Luckily, she was wet and horny enough for the pain to not overtake the pleasure of being completely full.  
  
“Now, use the muscles inside your cunt to make yourself come,” Voldemort ordered.  
  
Hermione groaned, but clenched her muscles. It made her legs shake, but it was a sweet, sweet feeling, making his hand press against everything inside her cunt. She was so close to another orgasm. Just one more …  
  
“Voldemort,” she cried as she came around his hand, her whole body breaking out in spasms.  
  
Before she had time to come down from her high, he withdrew his hand from inside her and rolled on top of her. It seemed all the talk about torture and blood had made him hard again.  
  
She couldn’t do anything but lay there and take his thrusts, tears of pleasure running down her cheeks. Her body felt boneless, and despite that, he still managed to force yet another orgasm out of her before collapsing. She fell into a deep sleep before he even had the chance to roll off her, and her last conscious thought was that her husband was one scary bastard, but at least, he knew how to fuck.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort continued to push his magic into Hermione for a bit more, until he was certain she was in a deep sleep. He had done his very best to tire her out physically, but it didn’t hurt to add a little magic into it as well. He didn’t want Hermione to wake up too fast.  
  
Falling onto his back, he sighed in pleasure. That had been just what he needed. He didn’t remember the last time he had absorbed that much magic from Hermione. After everything that had happened, though, he needed it. Especially tonight.  
  
Stretching, he got out of bed and wrapped his dark-blue dressing gown around him. Withdrawing his wand, he went over to the seemingly empty armchair at the other end of the room, facing the bed. He grasped the thin, invisible fabric and pulled it off the person sitting in the chair, making him visible.  
  
“Well then, Harry, where were we?” Voldemort asked, removing the silencing spell he had placed on the boy.  
  
Potter looked like he was about to be sick.  
  
“Right, somewhere between ‘I can’t believe you actually tried to break in; couldn’t you figure out I had wards beyond your capabilities?’ and ‘oh, none of your surveillance equipment will be of any use in here, because of said wards’.”  
  
Voldemort patted Potter’s shoulder in mock sympathy when the boy looked absolutely defeated that his plan wouldn’t work.  
  
“Being desperate often makes you stupid, Harry; you should have figured that out by now,” Voldemort scolded him. “And yet, here you are, and I didn’t even have to get out of bed to stop you.”  
  
“Someone has to do something,” Harry growled. “I know it was you who broke into Gringotts and killed those guards. Five people lost their life just because you’ve managed to get the Ministry in your pocket. Five people that we know of, so far. If you think that I’ll just—”  
  
Voldemort sighed loudly, interrupting him. “So this is your plan? Bore me with your righteousness until I die? Well, sorry to spoil your plan, but I didn’t kill five people last night. I killed four. Hermione killed one.”  
  
“If you really think I’ll believe that—”  
  
“Believe what you want,” Voldemort interrupted him again. “It doesn’t matter, really. Although, I do find it interesting that so many of you place Hermione up on such a high pedestal. Make her sound all perfect, good-hearted, clever and innocent. Well, sorry to spoil it for you, but she really isn’t. There has always been darkness in her, even before I met her. I know the things she did in Hogwarts, for you. Lying, hexing, stealing, fighting. But you just conveniently forgot about that, because she did it for you. For the ‘ _greater good’_.”  
  
“Don’t give me your shit, Voldemort,” Harry growled. “And I’m sick and tired of hearing your voice. For once in your life, just shut up and do the thing you always talk about: Kill me.”  
  
“Kill you? Whatever would I do that for?” Voldemort asked, faking surprise.  
  
“You have always tried to kill me!” Harry cried.  
  
“I haven’t tried to kill you for years, Harry,” Voldemort reminded him. “That prophecy with the ‘neither can live while the other survives’ is clearly just poppycock. Here we are, surviving just fine together. Well, I am, at least, and that’s what counts.”  
  
“I won’t rest until you are dead or at least imprisoned, Voldemort,” Harry spat. “If you don’t kill me—”  
  
“Why are you so keen on having me kill you, Potter?” Voldemort asked, curious. “Does someone know you are here? Oh, yes, of course. You told someone that if you didn’t come back, it would be because I had killed you. Do you have someone watching outside?”  
  
Voldemort eyed the boy carefully; Potter had never been able to hide his thoughts or emotions, and Voldemort had no problem seeing the answer without even using Legilimency.  
  
“Weasley, I take it. And he is the one who is supposed to receive my recorded confession.” Voldemort rolled his eyes and arched his back. “How the two of you ever managed to get accepted as Aurors is beyond me. Well, since you have been in here for a couple of hours already, I guess he is bound to get worried soon. Did you have a time limit?”  
  
Once again, Potter’s eyes betrayed him, and Voldemort could see that Potter and Weasley had indeed agreed upon some sort of time limit. Well, since Aurors weren’t bursting through the door as they spoke, Voldemort assumed he still had some time. He didn’t think Potter had planned to confront him into a confession. Undoubtedly, Potter had just wanted to sneak around underneath his Invisibility Cloak, hoping to catch some confession.  
  
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Voldemort said, sighing, “when will you learn?”  
  
He went over to the bed and saw that Hermione’s skin was covered in goosebumps. Ah, he couldn’t have that. He pulled the sheet over her. Should he wake her up yet? She would be furious if she woke up in the morning and found out what he had done to her friend, even though they weren’t exactly friends anymore. Ah, first things first. He needed Mizuro to prepare everything before they called the Aurors.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” Voldemort told Harry and left the room.  
  
Mizuro was still up, but in his room, reading. He looked up when Voldemort entered.  
  
“The interrogation must be very entertaining for you to take so long with it,” Mizuro commented, sounding bored, his eyes not even leaving the book. “Or did Hermione interrupt?”  
  
“She did, but she didn’t even notice he was there,” Voldemort said, giving him a wolfish smile.  
  
Mizuro snorted and looked up. “So that’s why you decided to marry her? She’s good in bed?”  
  
“She is, but no, that’s not why,” Voldemort just said.   
  
It was a game between him and Mizuro. His minion couldn’t understand why Lord Voldemort would ever marry a Muggle-born when he had spent so much time hunting and killing them. Thus, he took a guess now and again. Voldemort would never tell him, though. Mizuro might be an useful and entertaining minion, but he was not his confidant.  
  
“Do you still remember how to create the paranoia drug?” Voldemort asked instead.  
  
A glint of malice flew through Mizuro’s eyes. “Of course. Do you have chili at home?”  
  
“Naturally. You’ll find all the ingredients in the kitchen, I believe. Come to my room when you are done.”  
  
Pleased, Voldemort returned to his bedroom. The paranoia drug wasn’t a magical potion per se, and thus, it left no trail that the Aurors would look for. The Muggle police might have been able to check the urine for it, but Aurors didn’t meddle with such things.  
  
Inside the bedroom again, Voldemort found Harry lying on the floor in front of the armchair. It seemed the boy had tried to crawl to freedom, despite being bound to hand and feet. With just a flick of Voldemort’s wand, the boy was back in the chair again.  
  
“You don’t have to overstrain yourself,” Voldemort said softly. “I’ll let you go in about fifteen minutes.”  
  
“You’re lying,” Harry spat.  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
“Why would you let me go?”  
  
“Because I have no reason to keep you,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes at how slowly Potter was catching on. “I’m not Voldemort after all. Why would I keep you? No, I’m just an angry father and husband, who is sick of you terrorising my family.”  
  
He went over to the bed again and withdrew the magic that kept Hermione from waking. However, even without the spell, she seemed to be fast asleep, and Voldemort had to shake her gently to wake her.  
  
“Merlin, again?” Hermione groaned. “Can’t you just do it without waking me?”  
  
Voldemort chuckled and brushed her hair from her face. “I recall you being quite upset when I did that the last time.”  
  
“You have my permission now,” Hermione mumbled, already starting to drift off again.  
  
“As much as that pleases me, I’m afraid I don’t feel like performing in front of an audience,” Voldemort answered.  
  
Hermione slowly opened her eyes. “Audience?”  
  
Voldemort nodded towards the chair where Potter was sitting.  
  
Hermione lifted her head up. When she saw her former best friend, she sighed and her head fell against the pillow again. “What did you do now?”  
  
“Nothing. Potter came here to spy on us, hoping to catch me making a confession, not realising we have wards against that.”  
  
“Yeah, well, he never did think things through,” Hermione muttered. “Hand me my dressing gown.”  
  
Voldemort complied and helped Hermione get out of bed. Potter wouldn’t meet either of their eyes. Probably still ashamed after the sex act he had witnessed. Voldemort shook his head, feeling sorry for Mrs Potter if _that_ embarrassed her husband. They probably only did it in one position for five minutes. Poor Ginny.  
  
Hermione also seemed to notice her former friend’s blush. “How long has he been here?”  
  
“Long enough.”  
  
“Voldemort,” she said with a warning undertone.  
  
“Well, I was going to tell you, but you jumped me. I was distracted,” he replied innocently.  
  
“I see,” Hermione replied, anger clear in her voice. “So you didn’t do all those things to me because you knew we were having an audience and you wanted to make him as miserable as possible?”  
  
Voldemort smiled. “View it as retribution for the torture, kitten.”  
  
She glared at him. “You know, sooner or later, that excuse will stop working.”  
  
“I know, but not today.”  
  
Hermione glared at him for a bit longer, but then she sighed, looking down. Clearly, she was still feeling guilty about the torture. He hadn’t expected that she would let him get away with having sex in front of an audience this easily.  
  
“Now what?” she asked, keeping her anger restrained.  
  
“Now, we wait until Mizuro arrives. Is there anything you want to say to your friend?”  
  
Hermione crossed her arms. Apparently, she was still angry at Potter for getting her daughter kidnapped. _How joyful._  
  
“How about you, Harry? I could hardly shut you up before,” Voldemort said, smiling.  
  
The boy had been uncharacteristically quiet. Voldemort frowned. Was the boy really that embarrassed, or was he planning something?  
  
Right then, Potter looked up, his eyes wide and sad behind the round glasses. He looked straight at Hermione. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to get Voldemort away from you. I would have cleared you of all suspicions in just a matter of days. I never wanted anything to happen to your family. You know I love you like a sister.”  
  
Voldemort rolled his eyes. Salazar, Potter was getting desperate indeed. However, Hermione could also get emotional from time to time. He glanced at her, but to his great joy, she didn’t seem convinced. In fact, it seemed as if her anger had been redirected to her former friend.  
  
“You didn’t want anything to happen to my family?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “So what do you count him as? My pet?”  
  
Voldemort arched his eyebrows when she nodded at him. Her pet?  
  
“He’s Voldemort!” Harry cried. “You helped me fight him for seven years! He’s a mass murderer!”  
  
“He’s my husband,” Hermione growled. “I don’t have to justify our relationship. Especially not to the man who made it possible to have my daughter kidnapped.”  
  
Abruptly, she turned to Voldemort. “When are you going to throw him out?”  
  
“Oh, I was planning to call the Aurors. He is trespassing and harassing us, after all.”  
  
“Why don’t you do that then?”  
  
“In a moment,” Voldemort answered and looked at the time. Mizuro should be done with the drug now.  
  
As if his minion had read his mind, Mizuro opened the door to the bedroom. “Finished.”  
  
“What’s that?” Hermione asked, sounding suspicious.  
  
“Just a little something to convince the Aurors that Harry needs locking up,” Voldemort said happily.  
  
“The Aurors will find out that you used a potion on me,” Potter quickly said, looking a bit alarmed.  
  
“Who said this was a potion?” Voldemort asked and made a gesture for Mizuro to help him.  
  
Mizuro walked behind Potter and pinched Potter’s nose so he would have to open his mouth. Once he did, Voldemort grabbed Potter’s jaw and poured the cold liquid into his mouth. Potter coughed and tried to spit it out, but the liquid only required a small dosage to be absorbed into the body to work.  
  
Voldemort wiped Harry’s chin with the hem of his dressing gown. “There we go. Ken, why don’t you go and call the Aurors?”  
  
Mizuro took the empty cup and left the room with a nod.  
  
“What was that?” Hermione asked, clearly getting annoyed at not being in the loop.  
  
“We’ll talk about that later, dear,” Voldemort said and untied Potter. “You may want to get your wand.”  
  
“What for?” Hermione asked, but she did withdraw her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown.  
  
“Protection,” Voldemort said and handed Potter back his wand.  
  
For a moment, Potter just sat there, staring at his wand in disbelief. Voldemort backed away, his wand at the ready. It wasn’t like Potter would be able to beat him in any type of duel, but the drug made people reckless and paranoid, and Voldemort wouldn’t be surprised if Potter would just cast the Killing Curse. Voldemort would have to hold him off until the Aurors came to see Potter in action. The door to the bedroom was open, so they would be able to hear the fighting once they were inside the house.  
  
The change in Potter was drastic. One moment, he was just sitting down, staring at his wand. The next, he jumped up, rage and fear clear on his face. He didn’t even seem to notice Hermione; he was just interested in attacking Voldemort.  
  
“Avada Kedavra!” Harry screamed.  
  
Voldemort blocked it by throwing in its path a hideous vase Mrs Granger had given them for Christmas one year, which Hermione for some reason wanted to have on display. It broke with a satisfying crack.  
  
“Oi!” Hermione growled in annoyance; but catching his intention, she sent a chair in the way of the next curse.  
  
It didn’t take long until they had run out of things to destroy. Voldemort sighed. The Aurors should have been here by now. The drug had taken full effect of Potter, making him out of control. The curses he cast were sloppy and ill-aimed, though, making it quite easy to dodge them.  
  
Finally, Voldemort heard people running up the stairs. Two Aurors showed up in the doorway, quickly taking in the scene. One of them cast a disarming spell at Potter, while the other cast a stunning spell. Both of them hit; Potter hadn’t even seemed to notice his colleagues entering.  
  
Voldemort made a show of looking around for Hermione, as if he were worried about her wellbeing. Once he saw her, he rushed over and hugged her.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked, checking her body for injuries.  
  
“I’m fine,” Hermione said, also sounding shaken. “Are you okay?”  
  
Clearly, she had understood what game they were playing.  
  
“Professor Foster, Professor Granger.” One of the Aurors came up to them. Voldemort recognised her as Mrs Brennan. “What happened here?”  
  
Still hugging Hermione, Voldemort turned to the Auror, making sure his voice trembled just enough. “We had just got ready for bed when Potter suddenly appeared, out of nowhere, saying he had gathered evidence that I was You-Know-Who. Then he started to attack us!”  
  
“He used his Invisibility Cloak,” Hermione added, pointing at the fabric Voldemort had dropped on the floor earlier. “He just acted really … I’ve never seen him like that!”  
  
The two Aurors exchange a look. They seemed to believe them.  
  
“My colleague will take Potter down to the station for questioning. Will it be okay if I remain to get a full statement from the two of you?” Brennan asked.  
  
“Yes of co—” Voldemort stopped himself when he saw a door close behind the Aurors.  
  
Alexandra’s room was at the opposite side of the corridor from them, and from her doorway, she could see into their room if the door were open. Now it seemed as if all the noise had woken her.  
  
Voldemort let go of Hermione and walked past the two Aurors and the unconscious Potter. If Alexandra had seen their fight, she would no doubt be upset. And when Alexandra was upset, she always ran to someone she trusted. Since her parents had been occupied …  
  
He opened the door to the room just as he saw Alexandra grab something on the nightstand. She didn’t even hear him come in. With a small _pop_ , she was gone.  
  
  
  


 


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, new chapter up! Hope you’ll enjoy it.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I’d like to express my deepest thanks to my betas, Nerys and Shan84. Without you, this story would just be another cookie, but you help me add the delicious chocolate into them… mmm, chocolate.
> 
>  
> 
> I also really appreciate those of you who take their time to review! They make my day. For those of you who want to review anon, you can find your review replies here: tomioneconvention dot forumotion dot com /t144p15-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet#26689
> 
>  
> 
> http://www2.adultfanfiction.net/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/page__st__40__gopid__291928#entry291928

**Chapter 41**  
  
Voldemort quickly closed the door to Alexandra’s room and went back to Hermione and the Auror. He would need to get the Aurors to leave without them getting suspicious.  
  
“Sorry about that,” he said, entering the room. “Just wanted to make sure all the fighting hadn’t woken the little one.”  
  
“Is she alright?” Hermione asked, looking worried.  
  
“Oh, yes, slept like a baby,” Voldemort lied, desperately hoping this wouldn’t be one of those times Hermione was able to see through his lies.  
  
She didn’t look convinced, but thankfully she didn’t press him.  
  
“Well, then,” Brennan said, also looking a bit confused. “My colleague will be leaving with Mr Potter. Would you like to go somewhere else to make the statements?”  
  
Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “You know what, Mrs Brennan, I’m afraid I spoke too soon earlier. I just remembered—with all that has been going on lately—our attorney has ordered us not to speak to you, for any reason, without her present. Would it be possible for us to come down to the station with her later today to give our statements?”  
  
At once, Brennan looked suspicious. “As I’ve understood it, you were the victim here. You will have no need for an attorney if you are as innocent as it seems.”  
  
“Yes, well, after spending a night in a holding cell for the preposterous accusation of being You-Know-Who, I’m not convinced of your department’s competence in seeing things as they are,” Voldemort snapped. “I know my rights, Mrs Brennan. We will come down when we have had a good night’s sleep and the opportunity to speak with our attorney.”  
  
“Very well, Professor Foster,” Brennan said, sounding much less friendly. “I’ll just do a quick sweep of the area surrounding your house, making sure Potter didn’t have an accomplice.”  
  
“Thank you,” Voldemort said.  
  
It appeared that Brennan wasn’t as stupid as every other Auror. Voldemort knew Weasley was somewhere in the area, waiting for Potter to return. No doubt Brennan was aware of Potter and Weasley’s close friendship as well. Both of them would be behind bars for the night.  
  
Five minutes later, the Aurors had left with Potter, and Voldemort was able to start working on a plan to get both of his daughters back.  
  
“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, clearly suspicious.  
  
“Alexandra Disapparated,” Voldemort said, getting dressed with a flick of his wand.  
  
“What?” Hermione cried. “She doesn’t even have a wand!”  
  
“Well, we knew our daughters were powerful,” Voldemort replied, dressing her with another flick of his wand. “The good thing is that _this child_ , I can track. Hurry up, we need to move quickly!”  
  
Taking Hermione’s hand, he dragged her downstairs to the cellar. Now, she would see the advantages of blood magic. He had collected samples of all his girls, and they made a very powerful tracking spell. All he needed was a map, so they would know where they were Apparating to. It hadn’t worked with Althea, because the fairies had somehow shielded her. It probably had something to do with the fairy magic she had inside her. Alexandra didn’t have that, and hopefully, wherever she was, the fairies hadn’t found her yet.  
  
Ignoring Hermione’s questions, he spread a map of the world over the floor in the basement. It was magical, so it would zoom in on any location he wished it to do. In this case, it would zoom in on wherever the blood was.  
  
Withdrawing the clear bottle with Alexandra’s blood, he uncorked it and summoned one small drop of blood. Whispering the spell, mostly for Hermione’s benefit, he flicked his wand, sending the blood to the map. It turned into a small ball and landed on Ireland. The map grew, showing exactly where in Ireland she was.  
  
He let out a sigh of relief. She was still visible to his magic. That was a very good sign. Yet, there was still no time to lose. Taking Hermione’s hand again, he spun them around and Apparated just north of the town Clonmel.  
  
They found themselves in almost complete darkness. The smell, sound, and feeling underneath his feet told Voldemort they were in a forest, even before he managed to light his wand. Hermione lit her wand just a second later, and together, they illuminated their immediate surroundings. Trees, trees, and more trees. No Alexandra. But there was definitely something there. Voldemort took another deep breath and felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle. He would’ve recognised that magical stench anywhere. _Fairies._  
  
Were they too late?  
  
“Alex!” Voldemort called. His daughter was here; the map had shown them!  
  
“Alexandra!” Hermione called as well.  
  
But the forest was empty. Or, as far as they could see, it was. The fairies didn’t always exist in the same phase of their dimension. Something told him they were here, but in another plane of existence. Alexandra had somehow been able to cross through, but they hadn’t. Why?  
  
“Alexandra!” Hermione bellowed again.  
  
“We have to get back home,” Voldemort said.  
  
“But she isn’t here!” Hermione cried, sounding as though she was on the brink of becoming hysterical again.  
  
Voldemort grabbed her at once, and Apparated them back home.  
  
“Why did you do that?” Hermione cried.  
  
“There was fairy magic there,” Voldemort replied quickly. “Alexandra somehow found a way into their realm, but we couldn’t pass through. _Yet._ But now we know where she is! Where they both are! Alexandra would be trying to get to Althea; they are together.”  
  
At least that was what he thought. Children were capable of great magical things if they were in a heightened emotional state. He highly doubted that it was a mere coincidence that Alexandra was in a place reeking of fairy magic.  
  
But how had she found that place?  
  
Could it have something to do with whatever she had grabbed on her nightstand before she left?  
  
“We have to find out how she did it. She couldn’t just have done this on a whim,” Hermione said, sounding desperate. “Oh. Wait. I just … Check her room. I’ll check the library.”  
  
Not even waiting to see if he was going to follow her order, she hurried upstairs. Not seeing any point questioning her, he went to Alexandra’s room. He walked straight to the messy nightstand. It seemed his daughter threw half the things she owned on there. Besides a lamp and clock, there were three of those fairytale books she loved, a small bowl with shiny rocks, toy figures shaped as horses, a teddy bear, a hairbrush, a box with jewellery, hair tassels, pencils … Voldemort growled. Why couldn’t Alexandra just keep her things in order?  
  
He withdrew his wand and cast a scanning spell, trying to see if there was something magical on the nightstand. He recognised his own magic on a bracelet he had given her for Christmas a few years ago. Protection spells. However, apart his powerful magic, there was a small trace of something else. He picked up the friendship bracelets she had made. There was magic on some of them. Just a faint trace.  
  
“She has been reading up on Apparition,” Hermione said, appearing in the doorway with a book in her hand. “She was reading this earlier tonight. She even told me about it. She was wondering why we hadn’t just Apparated to Althea, and I just said we hadn’t been able to. I never would have thought she’d try it out … What if she got Splinched?”  
  
“Then parts of her would be here. But they aren’t. She is in the realm of the fairies—intact,” Voldemort reassured as he mentally added that piece of information to the puzzle of Alexandra’s disappearance. It made sense that she had read about Apparition. Knowing how to Apparate would increase the chances of her succeeding with it.  
  
“Do you know where she made these?” Voldemort asked, holding up the friendship bracelets.  
  
Hermione stared at them for a moment. “Yes, I believe it was her friend Sabina who taught her how to made them.”  
  
“That Muggle from her school?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Voldemort frowned and inspected the bracelet. The ones with the magical trace looked very similar to the ones without it. But Alexandra wasn’t good with practical things. She didn’t have the patience. However, he had noticed that she quickly found shortcuts, using magic. She must have used magic to tie these bracelets together!  
  
And she had given Althea one of them. That meant that the same magic he had in his hand was on something Althea wore. It was so faint that it was hardly worth mentioning. That must be why Alexandra was able to Apparate through the fairies’ wards. There was a link!  
  
No, wait, that couldn’t be the whole truth. If the link were there, he would have been able to find it. There had to be more to it than that.  
  
Suddenly, Voldemort remembered how the fairies had tried to kill Alexandra when she was still just a foetus. They must have feared that something like this would happen. They knew they wanted to take Althea away, but why kill the sister? That part had never made sense to him. Now it seemed it had been some form of preparation. Perhaps the only one who could find Althea once the fairies had her was Alexandra?  
  
But why? And how?  
  
No, those questions weren’t important at the moment. They needed to get them back first.  
  
“I believe it’s time to put our plan in motion, then,” Hermione said, apparently reaching the same conclusion he had. He could see that she was trying her hardest not to fall back into panic mode. Good. They didn’t have time for that now.  
  
“I believe it is,” Voldemort answered thoughtfully. “If we manage to distract the fairies long enough, we will most likely manage to use the link to Alexandra to get into their realm and take Alex and Althea out of there.”  
  
Hermione nodded. “Will Ken be of any use?”  
  
Voldemort smirked. “He can bring us coffee.”

 

xxx

  
Alexandra landed face first on something soft. Blinking, she saw that it was moss. Weird. She had tried to go to Althea, but why would it be mossy there? Had she failed?  
  
“Alex!” Althea’s surprised voice made Alexandra look up.  
  
There was her big sister, sitting on a stone in the middle of a forest with a lady who seemed to be at one with the forest. Or her clothes were just the same colour as the environment. Even more weird.  
  
“Althea?” Alexandra said, getting to her feet. She knew it was her sister, but there was something strange going on. Althea didn’t look as if she had been kidnapped. Surely you would be sad if you were kidnapped? Althea looked anything but.  
  
Nevertheless, Althea rushed over to her with a huge smile on her face and hugged her tightly.  
  
“I’m so happy you are here! How did you get here? Did the fairies bring you here?”  
  
“Fairies?” Alexandra asked, looking at the strange lady again. She looked nothing like the fairies Alexandra had read about. She didn’t have any wings, and she was normal size. Neither did she look playful and nice. Her mother must have told the truth, then. There really were mean fairies.  
  
“Yeah, you know, like Morgana,” Althea said, making a gesture to the lady who had made her way over to them.  
  
Alexandra grabbed Althea’s hand, and her sister looked at her in surprise.  
  
“Alexandra Riddle,” Morgana said. “Welcome to our realm.”  
  
Alexandra frowned. Who was Riddle? “I’m Granger-Foster.”  
  
“Are you really?” Morgana arched a perfect eyebrow.   
  
_She looked so perfect that it was almost ugly_ , Alexandra thought. Or maybe it was something else that made her ugly. All Alexandra knew was that she didn’t trust this lady one bit, and she would have to be careful.  
  
“Yes,” Alexandra answered, not understanding one bit of what the lady was saying.  
  
“Can Alex stay here for a bit?” Althea asked, seemingly not alarmed by Morgana’s presence.  
  
Morgana regarded Alexandra for a moment. Alexandra stared back, not wanting the lady to think that she was scared. She was, though. Both scared and confused. Why didn’t Althea act as if she was kidnapped and scared?  
  
“I can’t see why not, when she must have travelled so long to get here,” Morgana finally said and made a sweeping gesture with her hand.  
  
Suddenly, they were standing in something that looked like a great hall. A table was set with delicious treats, but Alexandra wasn’t hungry. She just wanted to be able to talk to her sister, alone.  
  
“They have the most delicious ice cream here,” Althea said happily and dragged Alexandra over to the table. “Dad will be so jealous when we tell him.”  
  
Alexandra glanced at Morgana. She was usually good at being able to tell from people’s expression what they were feeling and thinking, but Morgana’s face was unreadable. That scared Alexandra. The only person that she had ever seen having such an unreadable face was her father. Once, she had asked Marcus about it, and he had said it was because he had so many secrets. He had also warned her to be aware of other people she couldn’t read until she found out what their secrets were. Secrets could harm you.  
  
When Alexandra had asked what his secrets were, he had just laughed and ruffled her hair. “That’s for you to find out,” he had said.  
  
“What kind do you want?” Althea asked once they reached the table.  
  
“I just brushed my teeth. ‘You aren’t supposed to eat after brushing your teeth at night’,” Alexandra said, quoting their mother, even though she was really following another quote. “Don’t take treats from strangers”.  
  
Althea rolled her eyes, but didn’t push it. “Do you want to see the magic I’ve learned here? It’s really cool. I can make it rain!”  
  
Alexandra glanced at Morgana again. For some reason, she had gone very still. It almost looked as if her focus was elsewhere. She wasn’t even looking at them anymore. Alexandra took the opportunity to lean closer to Althea.  
  
“We have to get out of here,” she whispered. “Mum and Dad think you have been kidnapped by the fairies! They are really, really worried. You have to come back with me!”  
  
Althea’s eyes widened in surprise. “But I’m just here learning magic. It’s better than Hogwarts. You’ll see. I’m sure the fairies can teach you, too.”  
  
Alexandra opened her mouth to answer, but Morgana suddenly appeared next to her. “You need not worry about your sister, Alexandra. She is happy here.”  
  
“But our parents worry,” Alexandra said, her eyes narrowing. “Why haven’t you talked to them about taking Althea?”  
  
“It is of no concern to them,” Morgana answered, her voice even. “This was Althea’s choice, and she chose to come with me.”  
  
Alexandra looked at her sister in surprise. Althea shrugged. “It seemed nicer than Hogwarts. You know Lupin is at Hogwarts.”  
  
Alexandra grimaced. “Lupin is elephant poop. I don’t care about him. And if you don’t wanna go to Hogwarts, come back home with me. I miss you.”  
  
Althea hesitated, seemingly confused.  
  
“Please, Althea, come home with me,” Alexandra begged. “Things have got so much worse since you disappeared. Mum and Dad are acting really strange, and there are people who have tried to attack them! I need you.”  
  
Alexandra had never spoken those words before. It had, from time to time, been an unspoken understanding between the sisters that they needed each other. Their parents were busy people, and more often than not, it was easier to just go to your sister with a problem, instead of them. To actually admit it, though, spoke about the severity of the situation.  
  
Alexandra could see that Althea made up her mind to return back home. Unfortunately, Morgana could see it, too, and stepped in.  
  
“Your sister could stay here, with you, if you want her to, Althea,” Morgana said. “You can protect her here.”  
  
“I don’t wanna stay here!” Alexandra whined. “Please, Althea, let’s just go home.”  
  
Morgana turned directly to Alexandra. “If you stay, Alexandra, you could do whatever you wanted to do. Learn magic together with your sister, hear stories at the fireplace, perhaps even … learn a few secrets.”  
  
Alexandra frowned in suspicion. “What sort of secrets?”  
  
“You both know your father has secrets. I know them,” Morgana admitted, smiling.  
  
Althea gasped in surprise. “Why haven’t you told me them?”  
  
“You never asked,” Morgana said, shrugging. “But if you aren’t hungry, we can go to the library instead.”  
  
With another sweeping motion of her hand, they found themselves standing in a huge library. It still looked as if they were in a forest, but the enormous oak trees were hollow and filled with books and other objects. Alexandra saw crystal bowls, swords, stuffed animals, and a lot of other things she didn’t recognise. There was a soft green shimmer over the whole library, and it still smelt like a forest, but of something else as well: fire. Following her nose, Alexandra turned around and saw that they were standing next to a small fireplace. Big plush pillows in different colours were spread around it. It seemed too cosy to be true, so Alexandra decided not to drop her guard.  
  
Althea dragged Alexandra down on a purple pillow while Morgana summoned a crystal bowl. Althea looked very enthusiastic. Apparently, she had done this before. Alexandra couldn’t help but feel a bit curious as well, but no matter what the lady said, she was sure she couldn’t trust her.  
  
With the crystal bowl in her hands, Morgana graciously sat down on the pillow next to the sisters. “You are aware, I trust, about the defeat of Lord Voldemort?”  
  
“Yes,” Althea said. “Mum was there when he was defeated. She helped fight him with Harry, Gin and the Order of the Phoenix.”  
  
“Indeed she was. Do you know what happened to Lord Voldemort after the fight?”  
  
“He disappeared,” Althea said. “Harry’s still hunting him.”  
  
“Do you know that wizards can change their appearance?” Morgana asked.  
  
Alexandra rolled her eyes. If there were something she hated, it was when people asked her stupid questions, just because she was young. “Everyone knows that.”  
  
“That is how Voldemort has stayed hidden. He changed his body, so he looked like someone else. Do you want to see how?” Morgana asked.  
  
Althea looked at Alexandra, who shrugged. Alexandra was very curious, even though she still had the feeling that they should leave this place as soon as they could. But she had no idea how they were going to do that yet. Better play along, as her father always said when they were stuck at the Weasley’s.  
  
Morgana did something that made the crystal bowl glow. The mists in it cleared, and they saw a scary figure sitting somewhere dark. It was a person, and at the same time, it wasn’t. It had white skin under a long dark robe, no nose, and glowing red eyes. It reminded Alexandra of a snake. A snake-human. It must be Voldeydorks. Ron had said he looked like a monster.  
  
Voldemort held a cup in his hand and stared at it for a short moment before he drank it all. Once he did, his body immediately started changing. Dark brown hair grew from his head, his face became rounder, and a nose appeared. His eyes were still red, but they didn’t look as scary when they were framed with dark eyelashes and eyebrows. There was no sound coming from the crystal, but Alexandra could see him trying to say something and being surprised with what came out. His hands, much smaller now, came up, stroking his face and hair.  
  
Then, his eyes turned from red to dark-blue, and Alexandra’s heart sank. She had recognised him before as well but didn’t want to believe it. With these different eyes, however, there was no denying who he was.  
  
Next to her, she heard Althea gasp. Alexandra became angry.  
  
“You lie!” she growled, flying up from the pillow, smacking the crystal bowl from Morgana’s hands.  
  
Morgana simply blinked. “The truth can be hard, Alexandra Riddle, but it is nonetheless the truth. You know it, deep down. You know that your father isn’t who he says he is.”  
  
“Our dad isn’t You-Know-Who!” Althea cried. “Why’d you say something like that?”  
  
Morgana became slightly annoyed. “I am telling you this so you won’t go back there. Your father is a Dark Wizard. It’s only a matter of time before he does something evil to you. Don’t go back there, please. We can keep you both safe here.”  
  
“You are a liar, and we won’t stay here,” Alexandra hissed. “Come on, Althea, let’s get out of here.”  
  
She held her hand out for Althea to take, but all of a sudden, there seemed to be a wall between them. A wall which stung to touch. Alexandra withdrew her hand quickly from the invisible wall, nursing it.  
  
“What was that?” Althea asked, sounding surprised.  
  
“It’s time for you to sleep, Althea,” Morgana said in a soft voice. There was something magical about her voice. Something that made even Alexandra yawn.  
  
Althea was even more affected. She dropped back against the pillows at once, seemingly fast asleep.  
  
“What did you do?” Alexandra screamed, trying once again to reach her sister, but the wall was still there.  
  
“It’s time for you to leave, Alexandra Riddle,” Morgana’s voice was at once hard. In fact, her whole appearance changed, making Alexandra jump back in fear. The fairy’s body seemed harder, colder, and angrier. “You will leave and don’t you ever, ever come back here. Your sister is one of us now, and nothing will take her away from us.”  
  
That made Alexandra angry. Althea was _her_ sister, and no stupid poop-fairy would ever tell her differently. For the second time that night, Alexandra felt like a fire had lit inside her chest. She would not let anyone stand between her and her sister.  
  
With a high-pitched scream, she threw herself at the wall which shattered like it had been made of glass. It hurt her, but she didn’t care about it. All she cared about was getting her sister home.  
  
Morgana lurched for her and grabbed her lower left arm, hard. Alexandra, however, had grown up wrestling with other children bigger than her. Most of the times, it was for play, but in those times it wasn’t, Alexandra had always been able to do one thing: get away. Another handy lesson from her father: If you don’t seem to win the fight, retreat and get them another day. This was clearly a moment for retreat.  
  
She slithered her arm away, Morgana only managing to give her a few scratch marks with her nails before she lost her grip. Then Alexandra grabbed her sister and forced her magic to obey her, taking both of them to where she wanted to go most of all: home.  
  
They crash-landed on the floor. Alexandra winced as Althea landed on top of her, crushing her chest. She pushed her sister off of her at the same time as someone came running down the stairs. The moment Alexandra saw her mother, she began crying. She hadn’t realised how scared she had been until she came home.  
  
Hermione scooped her up into her arms, comforting her at the same time as she checked on Althea as well. Marcus was also there, but Alexandra hardly saw him because of all the tears in her eyes. She was just so glad she had managed to get home. She had never been part of anything so scary in her entire life. Not even when Potter and Lupin dared her to go down the basement of Grimmauld Place. She had done that without crying.  
  
Suddenly, she felt foolish for crying. She had made it, hadn’t she? She was home, and so was Althea. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she tried to calm herself, but she didn’t let go of her mother.  
  
“You’re hurt!” Hermione gasped, taking Alexandra’s arm.  
  
Four short, but bleeding, scratches were seen on her lower arm.  
  
“That mean fairy did it,” Alexandra said, drying her tears at the fabric over her mother’s shoulder.  
  
“A fairy touched you?” her father asked, sounding concerned.  
  
Alexandra nodded and looked up at him.  
  
“Are you sure it was a fairy? Not some other human there?” her father pressed.  
  
“Yes, she said her name was Morgana,” Alexandra said.  
  
Marcus dropped her arm as if he had been burned. He looked down at Althea, whose head was now  resting on Hermione’s thigh. She was still sleeping soundly.  
  
“Was it Morgana who put Althea to sleep as well?” Marcus asked darkly.  
  
Alexandra nodded. “She just said ‘sleep’, and Althea fell asleep. Is she alright?”  
  
“Yes, she is perfectly healthy,” Marcus said. “She is just asleep. Magical sleep. I hope she’ll wake on her own.”  
  
“Can’t we do anything to wake her?” Hermione asked as Alexandra slid down from her other thigh, poking Althea.  
  
“No. Not yet, at least. If it is like a normal sleeping spell, it will wear off by itself. If it isn’t … well, there are other things we can try. But I would rather wait a day at least,” Marcus said and gathered Althea up in her arms. “I’ll take her to bed where she will be more comfortable.”  
  
Hermione rose as well, helping Alexandra up in the process. “Let’s heal your wound, love.”  
  
Alexandra followed her mother into the kitchen and suddenly another thought hit her. “Why was those mean Aurors here?”  
  
“They _were_ here to take care of Harry. Harry tried to hurt us,” Hermione said darkly and placed Alexandra on a chair, starting to inspect the wound.  
  
“Why did he do that?”  
  
“Because he still thinks your father is Voldemort.” She did a quick movement of her wand, and Alexandra’s arm felt hot for a moment, before the wounds closed.  
  
“Isn’t he?” Alexandra asked, more as a test than anything else. Morgana’s words had made her think, even though she still wasn’t sure she believed it. Voldydorks would have had to hide somewhere; be someone else; and who wouldn’t want to be her father? He was awesome. And her father _did_ have secrets. But she wasn’t sure, and she thought it was best to ask her mother for confirmation.  
  
Hermione’s reaction startled Alexandra. Hermione dropped her hand and stared at Alexandra in absolute horror. “Wh—why … what makes you say that?”  
  
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed, but before she had time to answer, her father entered the room. He marched over to her and pulled out a chair, sitting down next to her.  
  
“I have to find out exactly what happened, Alex. I’m going to go into your memories; do you understand?”  
  
“Are you sure you have to?” Hermione asked, still staring at Alexandra, but the look of horror had changed to one of doubt.  
  
“Yes,” he replied, moving his hand to Alexandra’s chin, tilting her head upwards. “Just think about what just happened, Alex. I’ll see it all through your eyes.”  
  
“How?” Alexandra asked.  
  
“Magic,” he answered, and in the next moment, she couldn’t see her father’s dark-blue eyes any longer. Instead, she was back in the forest with Althea.  
  
She could feel that her father was there with her, watching as the scene unfolded. At once, she felt worried. What would he say when he found out what Morgana had told her about him? Would he just laugh and say that the fairy was stupid, or …?  
  
Before she had time to think that thought through, her father had already arrived at those memories. She couldn’t tell what he thought about it because he didn’t pause; instead, he just kept going until she Apparated home.  
  
Alexandra’s vision cleared, and she could see her father again. He wasn’t angry, at least. Instead, he seemed thoughtful. Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. What did that mean?  
  
“Morgana told you I was Voldemort?” he asked, his voice even. It was hard to tell if he found it funny or not.  
  
Alexandra nodded slowly, feeling uneasy. Was her father angry?  
  
“Marcus …” Hermione’s voice held a tone of warning.  
  
“She has already figured it out,” he answered her. “Haven’t you, Alex?”  
  
He stroked her hair slowly, but he didn’t seem angry. Alexandra looked up at him in silence for a few seconds, then she nodded. She did know. A part of her had probably always known, ever since her mother had told her she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone she could speak Parseltongue because of You-Know-Who. But it didn’t matter; he was still her father. They ate ice cream together, and he read books to her, and he taught her magic. If he were Voldydorks, then it could only mean everyone else was wrong about him.  
  
“Are you scared of me?” he asked.  
  
Alexandra snorted. What was there to be scared about? He was her father!  
  
He smiled. “Good. We can talk more about this once we have taken care of the fairies.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay, Alex?” Hermione had come around the chair and was looking at her daughter, worry in her eyes.  
  
“ _Muuuuum_ ,” Alexandra groaned, rolling her eyes. Her mother could fuss so much sometimes.  
  
A blinding light flashed through the kitchen, and suddenly, Alexandra felt very much scared. She cried out and reached for her father who had been standing right in front of her. She felt his hand grabbing her shoulder, pushing her down onto the floor, underneath the table. Blinking rapidly, her sight returned to her, and she saw that the window had been destroyed. Behind the window, it was completely dark. Darker than it usually was at night. Where were the streetlights? And where were the Christmas decoration lights that the neighbours next door never removed? And hadn’t she been able to see the moon through the window a second ago?  
  
Above her, her father was muttering a spell underneath his breath. He was holding her mother’s hand and both of them had their wands out. They didn’t look scared, and that comforted Alexandra enough to dare to crawl out from underneath the table and get a better view of what was outside.  
  
There was nothing there. Only darkness.  
  
Someone came running down the stairs, and Alexandra spun around, frightened. But it was only Ken, with Althea in his arms.  
  
“Is she alright— Oh,” Hermione gasped and made an attempt to get to Althea, but Marcus held her back.  
  
That was when Alexandra noticed it as well. There was a faint green glow around her sister’s body.  
  
“They are using her magic,” her father commented, his voice hard. “And they seemed to have pulled us into another dimension. Or maybe we are just out of phase with the rest of our dimension.”  
  
“She began glowing just before the lightning happened,” Ken said quickly. “Fairies?”  
  
Before her parents had time to answer, a face showed up on the other side of the broken window. Alexandra recognised her at once: Morgana.  
  
“Blood magic won’t hold us back for long, Tom Riddle,” she said in a tone of triumph. “Give us Althea, and we will spare your other daughter’s life.”  
  
“Don’t you dare—” Hermione began, angry.   
  
“Spare Alexandra’s life? Somehow I doubt that,” Marcus interrupted, his voice calm. “You have wanted her dead since she was barely a foetus. Is this … gracious offer another lie, or are you just incapable of killing her yourself? And why do you need us dead?”  
  
Morgana laughed. “We know you like talking, Tom Riddle. You talk and talk, and then, give your opponents a chance to regroup. Do you think we will make your mistake?”  
  
Then she disappeared, and the whole house started to shake.  
  
“How long will the wards hold?” Hermione asked, sounding worried. Alexandra crawled closer to her and took a hold of her hand.  
  
“A couple of hours, at most,” Marcus answered. “But there are more wards around the basement. That will buy us another hour, I hope. Let’s gather everything we will need.”  
  
He finally let go of Hermione’s hand. “Take the children down to the basement. Mizuro, get the supplies from your room.”  
  
Hermione took Althea from Ken. “Come on, Alex.”  
  
Alex followed her mother down to the basement. Even though she was scared and worried about what would happen, she felt comforted that her parents were with her. Somehow, they always managed to make things right, and she was sure that if she just waited, they would fix things here as well.  
  
  


 

 


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my faithful readers! Sorry for the delay, but here is the next chapter! I want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing, and thank Shan84 for betaing, and also thank Nerys for the suggestions!
> 
> Anon review replies can be found here: tomioneconvention dot forumotion dot com /t144p15-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet#30074
> 
> WARNING! Violence

Chapter 42

Hermione laid Althea down on the couch in the basement and pulled a blanket over her. She ran a quick diagnostic spell, just to make sure the fairies weren’t hurting her. The answer was the same as earlier. Althea was asleep, but otherwise unhurt.

“Mum, what are you going to do?” Alexandra asked, sitting down at Althea’s feet.

“We are going to take care of the evil fairies. Your father will have to change the way he looks to, er, scare the fairies, but you don’t have to worry, he is still your father,” Hermione reassured her, before taking in the basement again, to see if there was anything else they would need if they were trapped down here.

Most of the objects were part of some project Voldemort was working on, or things too dangerous to have around the children. There was, however, a refrigerator standing next to the bench. Opening it, Hermione discovered some content she’d rather not know any more about, but also water, ice cream, chocolate, and alcohol. Well, it would keep Alexandra happy if she got hungry during the ordeal. She took out a bar of chocolate and the water and went back to Alexandra.

“This will be quite hard, sweetie, and you’ll have to keep quiet. If you get hungry, eat this,” she handed her the chocolate bar and placed the water container on the side table next to the couch.

“But it isn’t Saturday,” Alexandra commented, frowning.

“Sometimes you can break the rules, love,” Hermione replied, turning to the stairwell when she heard someone come down.

A second later, she recognised Voldemort and she lowered her wand. He was carrying her beaded bag. “Unpack it,” he ordered, throwing it to her. “Start the ritual. We will be better off if we manage to take away their claim on Althea.”

Hermione sat down on the floor and emptied the contents of her bottomless bag. Voldemort seemed to have gathered everything they needed in it. She quickly sorted the things they would use right away from the things they could need later. Pushing the ‘later’ pile away, she opened Voldemort’s notebook. When Alexandra went missing, she and Voldemort had started the calculation for the ritual that would hopefully break his agreement with the fairies. They had just finished it when Alexandra returned. Now came the hard part: doing it.

With magical crayons, she started to draw the runic symbols they had calculated they would need. Around her, she could still feel the house shake, but it wasn’t as noticeable downstairs as it had been upstairs. She wondered if they were in another dimension or just out of phase, but quickly banished those thoughts from her mind. If that were the case, they could fix it later. Right now, they had to save their daughter. Without her, the fairies would hopefully not be able to uphold whatever magic they had placed on the house.

A few minutes later, Voldemort and Mizuro came down again, and Voldemort locked the door behind him. He spoke some magical command she didn’t recognise and the tremors were almost completely muffled.

“What wards do you have around here?” she asked, surprised by how effective they seemed to be.

“Considerably darker ones than those around the house,” Voldemort answered. “I haven’t had them activated, though. Wouldn’t want the Auror’s sniffing those out.”

“Right,” Hermione said, adding the last rune to her circle on the floor. “Done.”

Voldemort came over and inspected it. “Excellent. Ken, give me the Wolfsbane.”

“I thought we had an agreement that you would tell me when you discovered new uses of magical herbs,” Ken said, but withdrew a sprig of Wolfsbane from his bag.

“I’m a little busy saving our lives here,” Voldemort growled and started to place twigs of Wolfsbane around the circle.

Hermione jumped out of it, careful not to smudge any of the lines she had drawn. She was so pumped up on adrenaline that she didn’t care about whatever agreement Ken and Voldemort had. If they got out of this alive, she could ask.

“Hermione?” Voldemort called once he was done, holding out his hand for her.

Hermione grabbed it, knowing he was after a mental conversation. She wondered if it was so that they wouldn’t scare Alexandra, or if Voldemort didn’t trust Ken.

I don’t know how this ritual will affect me right away. You will have to be ready for anything. It helps that we have Althea here; we will be able to see if they stop using her power, he said quickly.

What if they don’t?

Then we will improvise.

He let go of her hand and then walked over to a closet standing near the entrance. It was filled with all sorts of different weapons. He removed a short ceremonial knife.

“Alex, don’t do this yourself,” he told her over his shoulder before cutting himself in the palm.

His words made Hermione realise that this would no doubt become even scarier soon. She didn’t want Alexandra to be unconscious, though. If they had to run, it would be better if they didn’t have to carry both girls. Besides, it didn’t feel right to just knock children out just for the convenience of it.

“Alex, why don’t you and Ken play something,” she said, waving at Ken to help Alex.

She thought she heard him mutter “I don’t get paid enough for this,” but she didn’t care about it. Voldemort needed her if they were to get out of here alive.

Just before Voldemort was about to step into the circle, Hermione realised something and grabbed a fist full of hair. With a slash of her wand, she left a bald spot on the back of his head.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?” Voldemort groaned.

“If we need to make Polyjuice later,” Hermione said and summoned an empty jar from the bench, putting them there.

“A bit of warning wouldn’t have hurt, you know,” Voldemort muttered. “But while you are at it, take all of it.”

With three fast cuts with his wand, he had removed most of his head. Hermione gathered every single stray hair into the jar, a bit surprised that he had wanted her to take all of it. Surely he didn’t expect to have his old body for that long?

Voldemort stepped into the circle and opened his hand. He dripped blood on one the rune which would activate the transformation and break his agreement with the fairies.

The house began shaking even more. Voldemort looked up, frowning. “They seem to be working faster than I thought. Ken, defend my daughters if they get in.”

Ken gave Voldemort a nod over his shoulder. He was sitting in front of Alexandra, blocking her view. It looked as if they were playing cards. Next to them, Althea was still glowing softly in the dim light.

Voldemort began casting. They had done the calculations thoroughly, with help from Merlin’s own research. In one of his books, he had gone through how he had managed to help parents whose children had been stolen by fairies. None of them had fairy magic in them, but they had all managed to get their children back by letting go of whatever their agreement with the fairies had been. It made the fairies lose their magical claim of the children.

What was tricky in their case was that Althea had fairy magic inside her already, and had so since birth. With the other cases, history had not been rewritten by the act, but whatever the people had received from the fairies had ceased to be. Voldemort was certain, though, that he could recreate the looks the fairies had given him at a later date.

The runes on the floor began to glow. Hermione took a few steps back, so she wouldn’t get in the way. Voldemort sank down to his knees as the runes on the floor turned to dust and started to swirl around him, faster and faster. She could no longer see him behind the small dust cloud, but neither was he screaming in pain, so she took that as a good sign.

The dust fell to the ground again, and Hermione held her breath. She had forgotten how fearsome Lord Voldemort had been before. The shaved head was now completely bald and pale. His face was flat, with just slits for nostrils. A long fingered hand came up to his face and his almost lipless mouth turned into a grimace when he found no nose.

“I forgot,” he mumbled, and his voice was much higher than before. It made Hermione shudder.

He looked up at her, frowning as he stepped out of the circle and walked up to her. Hermione had to force herself not to cringe as his hand came up to her face, stroking it. It surprised her when she realised that she still felt the same pleasure at his touch as before. He smiled, almost looking relieved.

“Your eyes…” Hermione said slowly when she noticed them, “they’re brown.”

He blinked in surprise. “I must still have my whole soul. Well, I guess that isn’t such a big surprise, since it was you that helped me get it back, however unknowingly, and not the fairies. That’s something at least.”

Before Hermione had time to answer, Alexandra let out a scream behind her. Hermione spun around, wand ready, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with Alexandra. Except that she had spotted Voldemort. Hermione rushed over to her.

“It’s okay, love,” Hermione said, making Alexandra look at her instead. “Your father will only look like this for a little while, as we fix what’s wrong with Althea, okay? Then he will look normal again. And he won’t hurt you. He is still your father.”

Alexandra looked quite terrified, and she kept glancing at him.

“Ah, so this is what you looked like back in the days?” Ken commented, sounding amused. “Egyptian dehumanising spell, if I’m not mistaken? To stop aging and human diseases.”

Voldemort smiled. “I knew there was a reason why I kept you around, Ken.”

He then turned to Alexandra and began speaking to her in Parseltongue. Alexandra whimpered, but answered in Parseltongue. However, their talk was cut short when the house started to shake even more.

“We certainty pissed someone off,” Voldemort muttered and moved over to Althea.

Hermione, who still had her hand on Alexandra’s head, looked at her other daughter. “She isn’t glowing anymore.”

“No, they lost their claim on her,” Voldemort said, holding his wand over Althea, starting to do a diagnostic spell over her. “But it seemed that whatever power they got from her, they are still in possession of.”

“I guess we should cast the spell that breaks all their magical containers in the world, then?” Hermione said, making an attempt to step away from Alexandra, but the girl grabbed her hand tightly.

“Mum, I don’t want Daddy to look so scary,” she whispered, still sounding very afraid.

“It’s just temporary, love,” Hermione promised her. “And even though he looks scary, he won’t do anything scary. I promise. Why don’t you and Ken continue to play cards on the floor while your dad and I help Althea.”

She looked at Ken who shrugged. “Come on, Alexandra. I think you still have some pieces of chocolate left for me to win.”

“You cheated!” Alexandra exclaimed, even though she was still glancing fearfully at Voldemort.

“No, you just have to think of a better strategy when you play,” Ken said and took Alexandra’s hand, leading her to the other end of the room.

Hermione sank down on the spot Alexandra left and turned her attention to Voldemort and Althea again. At once, she could see that Voldemort wasn’t happy.

“What?” she asked.

“She is still infected with fairy magic,” Voldemort said grimly. “As long as she is, we can’t banish them.”

“But how? We broke your agreement with them!” Hermione cried.

“Well, it did say that it didn’t change history. She was still created by the help of fairy magic. True, the Shared Flame would make sure she was created anyway, since we are apparently extremely fertile … but I don’t think they can use her anymore. They have lost that part.”

“But as long as they are in this world, they will try to find a way to gain control over her again,” Hermione pointed out. “And now that they have regained some of their magic, there is no telling what they can do.”

“I know that,” Voldemort spat. “We need to remove it. I just don’t know … let me think.”

He began pacing the room. Hermione looked down at Althea’s sleeping form, fear running through her body. Their banishing spell would only work if they managed to break all the fairies ties to this world. The spell they had designed to shatter those bonds would break every place they had stored their magic in at once. It could kill Althea. There was no way Hermione would let that happen.

Of course, judging by the sound coming from outside the basement, the fairies would kill every one of them once they got inside. In that scenario, everyone but Althea would die.

Well, unless it was true what Voldemort had said, and the fairies couldn’t kill Alexandra either. It did make sense, though. Alexandra had been at the fairies mercy not even an hour ago. Why hadn’t they just killed her then? They must have known Alexandra would try to get Althea back, and they clearly wanted Althea.

What could it be that stopped them from killing her, though? They hadn’t hesitated to do so when she was still a foetus. Although, come to think of it, why would they have wanted her dead to being with? The fairies didn’t seem like killers, usually. Even Merlin had stated that they only killed as a last resort. They were more interested in keeping magical things alive and using them for themselves. They liked magical power a lot, just by itself. It made sense that they would chose a child of a couple with Shared Flame to get new magic, since those children were the most powerful—

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Oh!”

“What?” Voldemort stopped, looking at her.

“Our Shared Flame – we have the same magical core!”

Voldemort arched a non-existent eyebrow in question.

“What if Alexandra and Althea have the same magic as well? According to the Appletons, we can’t live without each other. What if the same is true for Alexandra and Althea? What if that is why the fairies can’t kill her? And they haven’t tried to kill her since she was born. They just tried to make me have an abortion! Foetus’s feed off of the mother’s magic, so she wouldn’t have come into her own powers yet,” Hermione pointed out.

“But Althea and Alexandra doesn’t feel pleasure when they touch each other,” Voldemort noted, looking over at Alexandra and Ken sat. Neither of them was playing cards anymore, they were both listening to them. “Alex, does it feel different for you to touch your sister, as opposed to when you touch someone else?”

Alexandra shook her head, not looking at her father. It seemed it would take quite some time before she got over how scary he looked. Hermione didn’t have time to worry about that now, though. Her mind was working furiously. The tremors were becoming stronger and stronger, causing the jars on the shelves to vibrate against one-another.

“But there is some sort of bond between them,” Hermione continued. “What if their magic is just similar enough, you know, like blood?”

“We can test it,” Voldemort said and hurried over to Althea. “Alex, come here.”

Alexandra didn’t seem very happy with that prospect. Hermione walked over to her and took her hand, leading her back.

“It’s okay,” she comforted her daughter. “We will just do a quick test.”

Taking a sample of one’s magic was just as easy as taking a blood sample, but without having to break the skin. Voldemort had it done in under a minute.

“They aren’t the same, but they are more alike than what should be possible,” Voldemort concluded, measuring the samples next to each other in the air. “It has to be because there is no variety in our magical cores. It’s magical incest, but with clones making children, not siblings…”

“Shouldn’t incest make them weaker?”

“Apparently not,” Voldemort said, still looking at the samples. “They have more raw magical energy than either of us. I think they are actually fuelling each other’s magic.”

“Do you think that’s why they didn’t kill Alex?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. Once Alex was born, Althea’s magic bonded with hers. I have no idea what will happen if one of them were to die. But that’s not what matters now. What’s matters is that we can make a transfusion with this,” Voldemort said, sounding amazed.

“What?” Hermione said. “I thought wizards couldn’t make transfusion because— oh.”

Voldemort nodded. “Yes, normally, the magic fights off any foreign elements. It’s statistically impossible to find someone who is both a magical and a blood match. But they are sisters and compatible in both blood and magic. We can flush Althea’s magic clean of fairy magic with the help of Alexandra.”

Alexandra whimpered. “Mum, what does that mean?”

Hermione stroked her hair. “It means you can save your sister from the fairies.” She looked up at Voldemort. “And that must be why they didn’t want her to be born! They were afraid we would realise this!”

Voldemort’s eyes were aglow with excitement, and for a moment, she didn’t see the snake like features, just the husband that she loved. It had removed whatever lingering fear she had of seeing him like this again.

Below them, they could hear the wards to the house break with a moan.

“Ken, guard the door,” Voldemort ordered and then turned to Hermione again. “We have to do it now.”

“Do we have to right equipment?” Hermione wondered. A transfusion was tricky business after all.

“I’ll improvise. Sedate her,” Voldemort ordered and went over to a supply cupboard at the other end of the room.

Hermione turned to Alexandra, taking a deep breath.

“Mum, what are you going to do?” Alexandra sounded even more scared than she had been a minute ago.

“Do you want to save your sister, Alex?” Hermione asked.

“What’ll happen?” she asked with a weak voice.

“We will borrow a little bit of your magic to save Althea,” Hermione explained. “You won’t feel a thing. In fact, I’m going to put you to sleep, and when you wake up, all this will be over, and you will be in your own bed, and then we will make you pancakes to breakfast. I’ll make your dad do them in those funny shapes you like.”

Alexandra looked at her sister. “Why does Althea need my magic?”

“Because the fairies have made her sick,” Hermione explained. “Your magic will get it out of her.”

It sounded as if someone was trying to break down the door. Alexandra winced at the sound.

“Will you help her?” Hermione asked, her wand already ready to put her daughter to sleep.

After just half a second of hesitation, Alexandra nodded.

“You are such a good and brave girl,” Hermione said and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, love.”

As Alexandra closed her eyes, Hermione felt her heart take a double beat in fear. What if she had just fallen asleep for good? They didn’t have much time left. If they weren’t able to go through with it, this would be the last time she ever got to talk to her daughter. There was no doubt in her mind that the fairies were going to kill her if they got through that door.

No! She couldn’t think like that. They would get through this. She was Hermione Granger, and nothing would ever take her away from her children.

“Are you ready?” Hermione called out to Voldemort. It sounded like the fairies were trying to break in through every wall at once. She didn’t dare to ask how much time they had left. Voldemort knew to hurry.

He had another knife in his hand when he came back. “We should move them to the floor,” he said and with a wave of his wand, they were on the floor. He removed the blanket from Althea and cut a thin line on the back of her hand. Then he took Alexandra’s hand and cut another thin line at the inside of her palm before placing it down on top of Althea’s injured hand.

“Sit down behind me and put your arms around me,” Voldemort said. “If we need to communicate, we will do it the fast way, but I can’t have you getting in my way.”

She did as ordered and sat down behind him, sneaking her hands underneath his shirt. His skin was colder than it had been before, but it didn’t bother her. She closed her eyes and sank into Voldemort. It was best if there were no delays between their interactions. If she was able to anticipate what he was about to do, she could help at once, without him having to explain it.

Voldemort usually didn’t like having her inside his mind, but this time he didn’t scold her. He was also aware how little time they had. Just like her, he was concerned about how fast the fairies had gone through their line of defence.

The magic inside the sisters were laid out like a sea of colours before his inner eye. Hermione saw the contaminated, dark green areas of fairy magic inside Althea. It was like two dark spots on an otherwise bright yellow aura. Alexandra had the same yellow aura around her, but without the spots. At the place where their hands met, their magic had already started intertwining. It was almost impossible to see what belonged to which girl.

Voldemort took a deep breath and started to move the magic inside Alexandra into Althea. His idea was simple; he was going to drown the dark areas inside Althea with Alexandra’s magic. He was moving more on intuition than knowledge. Hermione was almost envious of his relationship with magic. He was truly a great wizard; working the magic the same way he would use a limb.

It’s working! Hermione noted in excitement when she saw how the spots started to dim inside of Althea.

Voldemort didn’t reply. He was too focused on what he was doing. While he worked, Hermione could hear his thoughts in the back of his mind. He was still calculating plans, even though his focus was elsewhere. So was she. The longer she stayed inside his head, the more their minds started to work as one, analysing and calculating together. They wouldn’t have a lot of time left to cast the last two spells that would destroy and banish the fairies once he was done with Althea.

Thus, Hermione started to prepare herself to cast the first spell the moment Voldemort had flushed all fairy magic out of Althea. There couldn’t be anything left, or they would risk hurting her.

The whole room was shaking around them. Hermione could hear jars falling off their shelves, bouncing around. Trust Voldemort to make every tiny bottle unbreakable, no matter how insignificant the content was. Behind her, she could hear Mizuro adding more layers to the wards. It would buy them a few more minutes.

Go! Voldemort’s voice echoed in her head the moment he was finished with the transfusion. At once, Hermione withdrew from him and picked up the crystal they had prepared earlier. It would channel the energy of the spell, breaking every other storage of fairy magic in this dimension. The problem was that they would have to wait a few minutes for it to take full effect. They had no way of knowing how many objects there were around the globe, but they had calculated for it to be a thousand. That would mean it would take around three minutes for the spell to take full effect.

The door to the basement broke, splintering into a million pieces. A second ward kept them from getting hurt, but Hermione could see a dark, grey mist forming outside, trying to come in. It seemed that the fairies were no longer bothered with a corporeal form.

“Your time in this dimension is over,” Voldemort said, voice calm but high. He had risen from the floor, and his wand was raised, but he looked as if he had everything under control. “Any last words you wish to share with us?”

At once, everything turned quiet. The room stopped shaking, but instead, it looked as if the cloud was growing. It still hadn’t made it inside the room, but it turned darker, filling the whole opening. A rumbling was heard from inside it. It sounded almost like thunder.

Hermione barely had time to reflect over the metaphor when the cloud discharged, sending out a strike of lightening. It caused a rift in the ward and Hermione didn’t have time to even blink until it hit the bench next to her. She let out a yelp in surprise and immediately pulled up a shield around herself and the children.

It wasn’t a minute too soon. The next strike of lightning came right into her shield, forcing her back several feet. She stumbled and would have fallen if Ken hadn’t caught her. She didn’t know how he managed to move from the opening to behind her so fast, and neither did she have time to thank him. More lightning was coming their way.

Like lightning, the strikes were imprecise. Most of the strikes didn’t even touch their shields, but destroyed the room around them as the dark cloud came into the room. As it did, it started to grow larger, spreading out against the ceiling and walls at the opposite side of the room, forming a great black wall in front of them. Hermione wished she would have had the opportunity to move her daughters, but there was no chance. Instead, she had to look out so she wasn’t stumbling over them. She needed to get closer to Voldemort. They had decided to do the banishing spell together to be sure they had enough power. Alas, that meant touching, and it was hard when they were both holding off these attacks.

Voldemort seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “Shield us,” he cried to Ken and jumped over Althea to grab Hermione’s hand.

As quick as a weasel, Ken was in front of them, holding both his hands up, as if he was ready to physically fight the cloud off.

Now, Voldemort told her.

They both let go of their shields at the same time and started the spell that would banish the fairies into another dimension. It felt like the longest spell Hermione had ever cast, but in reality it probably didn’t take more than two seconds. As soon as it was done, they raised their shields again.

For a moment, it didn’t look as if it had worked. The dark cloud had almost reached Ken, looking ready to devour him, shield or no shield. Then, it was gone. No fading, or moaning, just gone. As if it had never been there.

Hermione felt her knees give in, and fell to the ground, her whole body trembling. Next to her, she felt Voldemort do the same thing. Or maybe he was just checking to see that she was okay. All energy had left her just as suddenly as the fairies. They had known it would be draining to do the banishing spell. It wasn’t magic that was meant to be done. There was no telling what consequences it would have.

But it would be worth it if it meant their daughters were safe. It was worth it.

That was the last thought passing through Hermione’s mind before she passed out.

xxx

Voldemort caught Hermione as she fainted. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss, other than exhaustion. His poor, little kitten wasn’t used to so many powerful spells at once. Even he felt shaky and drained. It was a good thing that he had got so much magic from fucking earlier; otherwise, he would have joined her into the land of unconsciousness. He couldn’t though. There were still things he needed to handle.

Summoning a pillow, he placed Hermione next to Alexandra before rising to his feet again. His vision darkened for a moment, but he pretended like nothing was amiss as he made his way to the couch where Mizuro had collapsed. Like him, Mizuro was still conscious, but seemed drained as well. Voldemort sat down next to him, wand still in his hand.

Mizuro saw it. “Is it my turn now?”

Voldemort smiled. “Why do you think that?”

“You don’t approve of people knowing your weaknesses,” Mizuro said softly, looking at Hermione.

“She is not a weakness. She makes me stronger than I have ever been,” Voldemort drawled. Even though he had his wand hand in his lap, he was ready to curse Mizuro at a moment’s notice. Mizuro was also holding his wand. The real question was who would strike first, and if they were alert enough to block an attack.

Mizuro smiled. “Are you lying to me to test me, or are you hoping I’ll take your excuse and we’ll walk away from this as if nothing had happened?”

Voldemort laughed. “That’s why I like you, Ken. You refuse to play the game. It’s amusing.”

“I learnt from the best,” Mizuro answered, still smiling.

“Will you fight back?” Voldemort asked.

Mizuro looked down at his wand. “I wouldn’t be honouring your lessons if I didn’t.”

“True.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Voldemort studied his old student. Mizuro had many qualities he valued in his minions. He followed orders without question, but could improvise when needed. He was intelligent and observant enough that Voldemort sometimes didn’t even need to voice his orders out loud. He was resourceful, amusing and powerful.

But Voldemort couldn’t trust him. Mizuro was a survivor. If he found someone he thought would be better than Voldemort, Mizuro would leave him without looking back. Because, just like Voldemort, he wasn’t burdened by loyalty. It was all about power.

Hermione hadn’t thought about that when she started to talk about their bond. She was too trusting. She hadn’t considered that maybe Voldemort didn’t want Mizuro to hear about how they may not be able to live without each other. Thus, Voldemort now needed to clean up after Hermione’s mistake.

It would have happened sooner or later, though. Mizuro was too curious and too intelligent to not figure it out eventually. Voldemort was actually surprised he hadn’t already.

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort said softly.

Mizuro, though, knew it was coming. He had already jumped from the couch, into the air, and landed on the other side of room. He sent his own hex back, but it was weak. Holding back the fairies must have taken a great deal of power out of him.

Voldemort rose, sending another killing spell. He wasn’t interested in making Mizuro suffer. His minion deserved a fast, pain free death. That was how far Voldemort’s mercy stretched.

Mizuro jumped out of the way again, sending two hexes at once, which Voldemort easily blocked as he advanced towards the other man. Mizuro backed up, throwing hex after hex towards Voldemort. The fight was unfair to begin with. Mizuro had taken a vow promising to never use Dark Arts against him. Thus, he didn’t stand a chance. The hexes could all be deflected and after just half a minute, Voldemort had backed him into a corner.

They stared at each other, faces blank. It was only because he knew him so well that Voldemort could see that Mizuro was scared and defeated. They knew it would always come down to this. They had both enjoyed a productive partnership during the past ten years, but it was always a matter of time before one of them had to off the other one.

“Is this where I’m supposed to beg for my life?” Mizuro asked quietly.

“Usually. But it never helps,” Voldemort answered and slashed his wand towards the other man.

Mizuro blocked the spell, but he didn’t see the knife coming. Voldemort had still had the ceremonial knife in his pocket. He quickly slashed Mizuro’s stomach, angling the knife so it went under the ribs and into the heart, before twisting it, and then pulling it out again.

The body fell to the floor, dead. Voldemort dropped the knife on the floor and wiped his bloody hand clean on his robe. Now, it was time to fool the Aurors again.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Sorry for the delay in updating.
> 
> As always, I want to thank my awesome betas, Nerys and Shan84. The story just wouldn’t be the same without you!
> 
> Anon review replies can be found on: tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144p15-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet#35461
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 **Chapter 43**  
  
Voldemort had just started to prepare the Polyjuice Potion when he heard one of the girls move on the floor. He hadn’t even had time to move them yet. It had only been five minutes since he killed Mizuro, and the Aurors would no doubt be swarming over them in any minute after all the magic the fairies did on their house. They lived close to Muggles after all.  
  
“Mum?” It was Althea. “Mum? What’s going—Who are you? What’s going on?”  
  
Voldemort cursed. Now Althea would no doubt start screaming when she saw him. He didn’t have time for that. “ _Althea_ ,” he said in Parseltongue. “ _It’s me. I’m just not looking like_ _I used to. I’ll take a potion and_ —”  
  
Althea’s scream interrupted him. He turned around, wand out; ready to defend. But her focus was on Mizuro’s corpse. Right. Most people were disturbed by corpses. He walked over and sat down next to her. Of course, this only made Althea look at him and her screams became louder.  
  
“ _Stop it_ ,” Voldemort said, really not having the patience for this. “ _It’s me. Look_.”  
  
He changed into his Animagus form. At once, Althea’s screaming stopped. She stared at him in shock. In his snake form, he made his body rise so his head was at the same level as hers. Since she was a Parselmouth, they could still communicate.  
  
“ _See_?” he said. “ _The fairies changed me when we got you back. They were very evil.”_  
  
“ _Daddy,_ _what happened_?” Althea asked in Parseltongue, sounding scared. “ _Are_ _Mum and Alex hurt_?”  
  
“ _Not really. We had to use a lot of magic to get the fairies away, your mum passed out. But she_ ’ _s okay, she just needs to rest for a bit. As does_ _your sister_.”  
  
“ _What happened to Ken_?”  
  
“ _The fairies killed him_ ,” Voldemort lied effortlessly.  
  
Althea’s eyes widened. “ _Why?”_  
  
“ _Because he was stopping them from taking you. They were using your magic to try_ _and_ _kill us, Althea,”_ Voldemort explained, his tone serious.  
  
Althea looked as if she didn’t want to believe him. “ _The fairies are nice to me! They wouldn’t kill anyone! You are lying!_ ”  
  
It was hard to scold when you were a snake, but Voldemort tried his best. “ _Althea, they were using you._ _All they wanted was your magic so they could come back to this world. They were eating you alive.”_  
  
“ _Stop lying! Morgana is my friend!_ ” Althea got to her feet. “ _You are the one that is_ _evil! Morgana told me! You_ ’ _re Voldemort!_ ”  
  
Voldemort didn’t see any use in denying it, so he turned back to his human form. “ _Be that as it may, but I’m still your father and you will listen to me. The fairies killed Ken and tried to kill both your mother and I just to get to you. But none of this would have happened if you had just gone to Hogwarts like_ _you were supposed to_!”  
  
Althea had tears in her eyes. “ _The fairies are teaching me much better magic than Hogwarts ever could!”_  
  
“ _The fairies just wanted to get their powers back, and they used you to get it_ ,” Voldemort growled. “ _They tricked you!”_  
  
“Stop yelling.” Hermione had awakened, and she did not look happy. “I don’t know what you are saying, but I can hear that you are yelling, so stop it.”  
  
Althea ran over to her mum. No doubt she thought that Hermione would save her from her mean father. Voldemort rolled his eyes.  
  
“Mum, he said that the fairies are evil and that they killed Ken, but he is lying and he is Voldemort, the fairies told me that,” Althea said quickly.  
  
“Killed who?” Hermione asked and rose from the ground, looking around. Her eyes fell on the corpse. She gasped and looked at Voldemort. He gave her a look of warning.  
  
Hermione sighed and turned back to Althea. “Yes, your father is Voldemort, but he isn’t lying, sweetie. The fairies were evil, and they didn’t want to let us see you. They were nice to you because they needed your magic to break free. You know how they couldn’t touch anything before? With your magic, they could. Your father and I had to stop them before they destroyed the world. I’m sorry. I know they were your friends, but they were not nice creatures.”  
  
More tears rose in Althea’s eyes. “But he is the evil one! You told me!”  
  
“It’s complicated, love,” Hermione said and wiped some tears from Althea’s cheeks. “We’ll sit down and talk about it, and you can ask whatever you want, but right now, we need to fix everything the fairies destroyed and help Alexandra. She saved your life.”  
  
Althea hesitated and looked down at Alexandra. “What’s wrong with her?”  
  
“We had to remove all of the fairy magic from your body, and Alexandra said we could use her magic since it’s so similar to yours. Come on, let’s get her up to her room, where she’ll be more comfortable,” Hermione said and cast Voldemort a questioning look.  
  
Voldemort made a gesture towards the Polyjuice Potion and added, “Make sure they both fall asleep.”  
  
Hermione looked surprised for a second, until the realisation dawned on her. When the Aurors came, he didn’t want Althea and Alexandra to start talking. She nodded once and then gathered Alexandra in her arms. “Come on, Althea.”  
  
Althea followed her mother, but cast an angry and scared glare back at her father before she disappeared up the stairs. Voldemort sighed. Clearly, it would not be as easy for Althea to get over that he was Voldemort as it had seemed to be for Alexandra.  
  
He went back to the repaired working bench and removed one stray strand of hair from the jar Hermione had stocked earlier. He dropped it into the bottle of Polyjuice Potion. It was an excellent brew, and thus, the disguise would last twelve hours. Since it could be stored for up to five years, they always had a batch ready in case of emergencies. He would be good for about a month. If he hadn’t fixed his looks permanently until then, he would have to buy more.  
  
 _Or steal more._  
  
He took one sip of the disgusting potion and closed his eyes, ignoring the pain until it had finished his transfiguration. Salazar, this would be a pain to do every morning. He needed to find a way to fix his looks soon.  
  
There was suddenly a distinct noise coming from upstairs, indicating others had arrived. Voldemort quickly hid the bottle of potion inside his robe and moved a hand over his face, making sure it was back to normal. Nose, check. Hair, check. Couldn’t be too bad, then.  
  
He quickly went and sat next to Mizuro’s lifeless body, taking his hand and forcing tears to well in his eyes. Merlin, crying was annoying. Why did people ever bother doing it when they didn’t have to?  
  
Footsteps came down the staircase, and in the next moment, Voldemort saw the same pair of Aurors that had been there just a few hours earlier, Mrs Brennan and her colleague.  
  
“You,” Voldemort growled. “What did you do to our wards? We were attacked! The wards didn’t stop them! What did you do to them?”  
  
“Just calm down, Professor Foster, and tell us what happened,” Mrs Brennan said and came over to him, kneeling next to Mizuro’s body. She did a diagnostic spell, but it only told her Mizuro was beyond any resurrection attempt. “Call for backup, Anders.”  
  
The colleague nodded and then disappeared up the stairs.  
  
“They just came out of nowhere,” Voldemort said, acting both angry and sad. “They had Althea and they said they’d give her back in exchange for Ken. We didn’t know what to do … the wards were supposed to have disarmed them, but they didn’t! And Ken …” Voldemort broke down in fake sobs.  
  
Mrs Brennan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just tell me what happened, Marcus. We will get whoever did this. What did they do, and how many were there?”  
  
Voldemort took a deep breath. Time to lie his arse off. Hermione would know to keep quiet until he had told her what their story was. “There were five. Ken spoke some Japanese dialect with them … I couldn’t really follow. I only heard that they were from the Order of … either White Tiger or Sitting Tiger or … something with Tiger. Ken said they were old enemies of his. They were wizards, but they fought with knives and swords. They said they’d give us back Althea if Ken did … something. I don’t know what exactly. But Ken loves … loved Althea, he would never let anything or anyone hurt her. And he is— _was_ —like a brother to me. He wouldn’t let them leave with Althea again. He attacked the person who had Althea and managed to get her away from him. Then the fighting began. All Hermione and I cared about was protecting our daughters. So we had our focus on them. I didn’t see what happened, but … suddenly they all just Disapparated again. When I turned around, Ken was lying there, dead!”  
  
By the time he managed to finish his story through the sobbing, more Aurors had arrived.  
  
“I don’t understand what happened to the wards,” Voldemort said in a low voice and pretended like he finally got the tears under control.  
  
“We will take care of this,” Mrs Brennan said and patted his shoulder before rising again.  
  
Orders were delivered, but Voldemort pretended like he was deep in his own thoughts and not listening. After a few minutes, he rose.  
  
“I have to be with Hermione,” he said to no one in particular and then walked upstairs. When he reached the second floor, he found more Aurors with Hermione and the children inside Alexandra’s bedroom.  
  
Alexandra had been put in bed and was sleeping while Hermione sat at the end of the bed with Althea’s head in her lap. She stroked her daughter’s hair slowly, comforting her. Althea appeared to have been crying.  
  
“Mr Foster,” one of the Aurors greeted him.  
  
Voldemort just nodded and went up to Hermione. He kneeled next to the bed and grabbed Hermione’s other hand, kissing it.  
  
“Are the girls okay?” he asked in a low voice. Althea’s eyes were closed. Hermione had followed his orders. Good.  
  
Hermione just nodded.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked, and then, added in his mind: _Have they asked you what happened yet?_  
  
Hermione shook her head, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks again. Her hand was trembling. _They tried. I didn’t know what our story was, so I just said I had to calm down a little. What’s our story?_  
  
 _Good kitten_ , Voldemort praised her as he rose to be able to hug her tightly. To the Aurors, it would look as if he was comforting his distressed wife. In reality, he showed her exactly what she was supposed to say to the Aurors when they questioned her. It seemed as if they were going to be able to dance their way out of this legal mess as well.  
  
As long as they didn’t lock him up again, disabling him to take his Polyjuice Potion every twelve hours, that was.

 

xxx

  
It was already past noon when the last Aurors left. Hermione could hardly see straight, she was so tired. The adrenaline had long since left her body, and all she wanted was to go to bed and sleep for the next week or so. But there seemed to be a million things to do right away. The Aurors had questioned them once their attorney, Tasmin, showed up. Hermione was glad she was there. It was hard keeping track of all the lies they told, but Tasmin had apparently been briefed by Voldemort and made sure Hermione said the right things.  
  
Hermione had been worried that Althea would give Voldemort away; she hadn’t been happy to find out who her father really was. But Althea slept like an angel after Hermione had administered the spell, and Tasmin had stopped the Auror who had insisted upon questioning Althea right away, stating that the girl needed psychological assistance first, not being questioned. Still, Hermione knew they couldn’t avoid the authorities forever. They would have to have a proper talk with Althea sooner, rather than later, about everything. They didn’t know what the fairies had told her or done to her. For all Hermione knew, they might have scarred her for life.  
  
“How long until this blows over?” Voldemort asked Tamsin.  
  
They had taken refuge into the library. The armchair Hermione was sitting on was so cosy she just wanted to fall asleep in it.  
  
To their great delight, the library was mostly intact. Only the windows had been broken. The same could be said for the girls’ bedrooms. The bottom floor had not been so lucky. Hermione had no idea what the fairies had done, but everything seemed to have been wrecked. On top of that, their bedroom was still a mess after Potter’s attack.  
  
“You’ll be lucky if you get to celebrate Christmas in peace,” Tamsin answered, her face serious. “This will be a nightmare to get through. The Potter incident was bad enough, but a famous wizard dying in your basement and your daughter appearing again, when there have been no demands? Right now, it seems logical, but once they start investigating … there are a lot of loose ends, Marcus.”  
  
Voldemort was sitting in the armchair next to Hermione’s, rubbing his temple. “I’ll take care of it, Alice. People can be convinced; evidence can appear … I just need to sleep on it.”  
  
“Don’t make it too neat,” Tamsin warned. “With Potter’s accusations, you don’t want anyone thinking it’s too perfect. Some people still want to believe Potter.”  
  
“I know,” Voldemort growled, his hand falling down on the arm rest. “I will take care of it. In the meantime, you will have to make sure no one questions Althea.”  
  
“That will be hard. I’ll find a good, discrete psychologist who can tell the Aurors that Althea needs time with her family, getting over the trauma, before she can talk about it. But she was supposedly kidnapped by the people who killed Mizuro. If the British Aurors don’t question her, the Japanese ones will insist upon it, and you can’t hinder the investigation to that degree. Mizuro had powerful friends. They will want to know what happened to him.”  
  
“Why was he even killed?” Hermione asked. It didn’t make sense to her. Mizuro had been Voldemort’s minion, and they had actually seemed to like each other.  
  
To her great surprise, Voldemort sent her an angry glare. “You have made enough of a mess already, Hermione. Just shut up.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, aggravated and confused over his harshness.  
  
He still glared at her. “We will talk about it later.”  
  
“Marc—”  
  
“Later!” he spat.  
  
Hermione growled at him, but she didn’t push it. She was too tired. Instead, she sank back in the armchair again and listened as Voldemort and Tasmin wrapped up their business.  
  
“I’ll start pulling some strings, but that’s all I can do until I know where the investigation leads to,” Tasmin said, gathering her things and getting up.  
  
“Good. Do you think we can lock Potter away for a few years as well?”  
  
Hermione sighed quietly. Even though Harry had cost them a great deal of worry, she just couldn’t hate him as much now that they had their daughter back. She still didn’t want to see him, and their friendship was forever ruined, but did they really have to lock him up? She wasn’t thinking about Harry as much as she was thinking about Ginny and their children. Why should they have to pay for their father’s mistakes?  
  
“I don’t think he will be imprisoned,” Tasmin said, closing her briefcase. “Last I heard, they were going to send him off to the Healers for a mental evaluation. Mr Weasley has been released from custody, but I doubt he will disturb you. He said he didn’t believe Potter but just followed him to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. I could prosecute him, but I doubt he’ll get more than a fine.”  
  
Voldemort grimaced. “Let’s not worry about that for now. It will seem strange if we cared about such a silly thing in light of Mizuro’s death.”  
  
Tasmin nodded. “If that’s all, I’ll get to work. I’ll come by tomorrow with an update.”  
  
“Yes, thank you, Alice.”  
  
With a nod, she Apparated away. Voldemort sank down in the armchair again.  
  
“Why are you angry with me?” Hermione asked tiredly.  
  
“If you hadn’t spoken out loud about our bond, I wouldn’t have had to kill Mizuro,” Voldemort stated.  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “ _That’s_ why you killed him? But he was your friend! You’ve made him babysit the girls plenty of times. Did you really think he could be a threat?”  
  
“I _knew_ he could have been a threat,” Voldemort spat and rose. “Mizuro was a talented Dark Wizard. He followed me because he knew that I’m the most powerful wizard alive. But I always knew that if he believed he had found a weakness in me, he’d exploit it once the opportunity came. I was merely striking first.”  
  
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. She’d liked Ken, and he had appeared to like her. Could he have killed her, just to get power over Voldemort?  
  
She suddenly snorted out loud. How could she have been married to Voldemort for seven years and still be so naïve? Of course Voldemort’s best man would have taken the opportunity to kill him. _She_ had tried to kill him.  
  
“Why were you even friends with him, then?” she asked. “Weren’t you afraid he’d hurt us to get to you?”  
  
“Not when he didn’t know why I’m with you,” Voldemort replied and transfigured the coffee table into a bed. “Now I think we need some sleep, come here.”  
  
Hermione didn’t mind crawling into bed next to him. “And why are you with us?”  
  
“You know why, Hermione,” Voldemort answered and pulled her into his arms, banishing their clothes.  
  
Hermione groaned. “Please don’t tell me we are going to fuck.”  
  
Voldemort chuckled tiredly. “Salazar, no. That was just habit.”  
  
“Good,” Hermione said, yawning and closing her eyes. A moment later, she fell into a blissful sleep.

 

xxx

  
Althea wasn’t sure where she was when she woke up. It took her a moment to recognise the room as her own room, but when she did, everything came back to her. Her father was Voldemort, Mizuro dead in the corner ...  
  
She began to cry.  
  
Just seconds later, the door opened and her parents came in. But her father didn’t look scary anymore. He looked just as normal as he had done before, and yet … Morgana had told her it was a lie. She had even showed Althea through that crystal bowl how Voldemort had changed into Marcus! She let out a whimper.  
  
“Althea, it’s okay; you are home now,” Hermione said and sat down on the bed, hugging her. “You are safe.”  
  
“No,” Althea moaned, staring at her father. “He is Voldemort! He is evil!”  
  
Her father sighed and sat down on the bed. “I would never hurt you, Althea.”  
  
“You are evil; the fairies told me!” Althea insisted, trying to get away from him and closer to her mother.  
  
“Your father isn’t evil anymore, Althea,” Hermione said softly, stroking her hair. “The fairies were the evil ones. They kidnapped you. We weren’t allowed to see you ever again, and they just wanted to use your magic so they could become corporeal again.”  
  
“But we defeated them and got you back,” Voldemort said, reaching out to touch her.  
  
“No!” Althea screamed and hit his hand away. “I don’t want to see you. You are evil!”  
  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Althea, I’m still your father—”  
  
Althea started to scream again in anger. She didn’t want him there. She wanted the fairies to come back, and she didn’t want to have an evil wizard as her father.  
  
“Please stop, Althea,” Hermione said, her voice carrying over Althea’s screaming. “Marcus, maybe it’s better if you—”  
  
“She is my daughter, and she will—”  
  
“Marcus,” Hermione interrupted him. “Go and check on Alexandra instead.”  
  
Althea stopped screaming, becoming worried. “What’s wrong with Alex?”  
  
“Your sister saved your life from the fairies,” Voldemort said, his voice hard. “With her magic, we managed to cleanse your system from all fairy magic. If your sister hadn’t let us use her magic, you would have died because of the fairies. Now your sister is very weak, and she’ll need to rest to regain her strength. So no more screaming.”  
  
He marched out of the room and closed the door hard behind him.  
  
Althea was pale. Did her father tell the truth? She looked at her mother for confirmation.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Alex will be fine, Althea. She brought you back from the fairies to us, and then, the fairies came. When they realised we wouldn’t give you back, they started to drain your magic from you, so they could do magic in the real world. They attacked us with that magic. We had to sever the link between you and them, and the only way to do it was to flush your system, using your sister’s magic. But Alex was happy to help you, and she will get better if she just gets some rest. Your father is treating her, and will continue to do so until she is completely healed.”  
  
Althea felt her stomach twist in guilt. She didn’t want Alex to be sick. Especially not because of her!  
  
“What happened at the fairies, Althea? Did they hurt you before yesterday?” Hermione asked, sounding worried.  
  
Althea shook her head. “The fairies were nice to me! They taught me magic. I’m sure they didn’t want to kill anybody. If you talk to them, you’d see.”  
  
“I know it’s hard to hear bad things about your friends, Althea, but the fairies attacked us. We had to protect ourselves. We sent the fairies away to another dimension. There is no way to talk to them anymore. You won’t be seeing them again,” Hermione said.  
  
Althea stared at her mother in horror. “But they are my friends!”  
  
“They weren’t good friends, honey. No good friend would take you away from your family.”  
  
Althea began to cry again.  
  
“I know it hurts, Althea, but—”  
  
“Leave me alone!” Althea cried.  
  
“I think it’s better if we talked this—”  
  
“Leave me alone!” Althea cried louder.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone for a little bit. I’ll go down and get you some tea, and then, we will talk some more.”  
  
She stroked Althea’s hair one last time before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.  
  
The moment she was out, Althea wiped her tears away and closed her eyes. The fairies couldn’t be gone. The first thing Morgana had taught her was how to summon them, in case they ever got separated. Morgana had promised to come at once if Althea ever used that spell. Once Morgana came here, her mother would see that Morgana and the fairies were nice!  
  
The spell was simple. Althea just had to take the magic inside her into her hand and think Morgana’s name. She did it and opened her eyes. For almost a minute, she just sat there and waited for Morgana to arrive. Nothing happened.  
  
She closed her eyes again, and this time, she called Morgana’s name out loud. But her room remained empty.  
  
Althea felt a stab of betrayal in her heart. Morgana had promised to always be there, but now, when Althea needed her the most, she was nowhere to be found.  
  
Althea began crying again.

 

xxx

  
Nothing made sense, and it made Althea angry. She hated not knowing anything.  
  
It had been almost a day since she was taken from the fairies, and they still hadn’t come for her. Instead, the only one who did come for her was a Mental Healer.  
  
They were all sitting inside the library, Althea, the Mental Healer, and her parents. Althea didn’t like the Mental Healer. Mrs Cameron treated her like she was a child who needed mollycoddling, and there was just one thing Althea really wanted to say.  
  
“Dad’s evil. He kills people.”  
  
Mrs Cameron didn’t react as Althea had hoped. Instead, she just good a look of sympathy on her face before turning to Voldemort.  
  
“Perhaps this will be easier if I talk to Althea alone?” she said softly.  
  
“Very well. Call if you need us,” Voldemort said, to Althea’s great surprise. He just rose and left together with her mother.  
  
When the door closed, Mrs Cameron turned back to Althea. “Althea, you can tell me anything you want. Although I have to speak to your parents and the Aurors about some of what you tell me, I will not tell them more than they need to know. But nothing you say here will get you in any trouble. We just have to make sure the person who did this to you is caught. So if you want, you can tell me everything.”  
  
After a moment of hesitation, Althea decided to tell the Mental Healer everything about the fairies and how her dad had killed them. For some reason, she started coughing whenever she tried to say Voldemort’s name, but it didn’t matter. She was sure to get the whole story out.

 

xxx

  
Voldemort sat down opposite from the Mental Healer while Hermione sat down on the side.   
  
“Your daughter has suppressed her memories of the kidnapping,” Mrs Cameron began with a serious face. “She has made up a fantasy around it instead, about being taken by fairies. It’s her way of dealing with the memories. Has she experienced any nightmares?”  
  
“Not this night, at least,” Hermione responded, sounding uncertain.  
  
“That’s good sign. It’s also good that she managed to talk so easily to me about it. I think she’ll be able to process her traumatic memories with therapy; however, this will take time, and for the benefit of her psychiatric health, it has to take time. I strongly object to any interrogation by the Aurors. They won’t have any use of her information in any case. If she ever lets herself remember what really happens, the memories will no doubt be rather fuzzy, and not something to rely on in court.”  
  
Voldemort managed to suppress a smirk. That was one problem out of the way, at least, and it had been easier than he thought. Mrs Cameron had reached the conclusion Voldemort wanted her to reach all on her own, without having to use Legilimency. With Althea away from the investigation, things would be much easier.  
  
“What I find to be the most pressing issue is her resentment of you, Professor Foster,” Mrs Cameron continued, turning to him. “You have become the evil entity in her fantasy. You will have to prove her wrong and make her regain her trust in you.”  
  
Voldemort wanted to roll his eyes. All Althea needed was to get over that he was Voldemort. However, he couldn’t say that. “Yes, of course. I can’t blame her for it … What kind of father am I for letting my daughter be kidnapped?”  
  
He looked away, putting on his best ashamed face.  
  
Hermione didn’t say a word, which surprised him. He glanced at her. Her mouth was pressed together in a thin line, and she looked as if she wanted to use her eyes to burn a hole into the kitchen table. She was angry at him. He mentally sighed.  
  
“I realise this is all a lot of you to process. I’ll come by tomorrow and talk some more with you as well as Althea. I’m sure you’ll have thought about some questions then. I’ll speak to the Aurors,” Mrs Cameron said, rising.  
  
“We appreciate that,” Voldemort said softly.  
  
“Let me show you to the door,” Hermione said quickly and got up from her seat. Clearly, she didn’t feel like talking more to him. No doubt was she expecting a fight to break out.  
  
He sighed and massaged his temple. Very well. He didn’t have time with this either way. He needed to get to Japan and frame some mobsters.

 

xxx

  
Later that night, Hermione found Althea sitting in the library. At least the world of the books was still making sense, so Althea kept to them.  
  
“Hi, Althea, what are you reading?” Hermione said, sitting down on the floor next to her daughter.  
  
Althea showed her the cover. It was a book about charms.  
  
“Haven’t you read it before?” Hermione asked.  
  
“So?” Althea asked, not looking at her mother.  
  
Hermione sighed. “We need to talk, Althea.”  
  
Althea hated when her mother used that tone, but she knew it wouldn’t help to run away. If she did, then Hermione could bring her father in, and Althea didn’t want to see _him_.  
  
Reluctantly, she put the book down, crossing her arms. Hermione frowned, clearly not pleased with her daughter’s attitude, but she didn’t comment on it.  
  
“I know you have questions about your father,” Hermione began slowly. “It will be much easier if you just ask them. I won’t be angry, you have the right to know.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner, then?” Althea asked sourly.  
  
Hermione grimaced. “We hadn’t planned to tell you at all. Marcus was Voldemort, but he has left all of that behind him. When he got his new body and met me, he stopped being the Dark Lord.”  
  
Althea sat in silence for a moment, taking it in. “But he’s Voldemort! He killed people. You told me that. And you can’t just brush that away. You go to prison when you have killed someone. Harry showed me.”  
  
“Yes, you are right,” Hermione said with a sigh. “When you have done what Voldemort did, you deserve to go to prison. But you don’t always get what you deserve in life. Life isn’t like the fairy tales when you—”  
  
“I know that,” Althea cut in, annoyed. She wasn’t some little kid. “But he killed a lot of people. He should pay.”  
  
“Yes, he should,” Hermione agreed. “But until that happens, I’m making sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”  
  
Althea looked up at her, surprised. “How can you do that?”  
  
“I’m his wife, he has to listen to me,” Hermione said, giving her a wink.  
  
Althea arched her eyebrows in disbelief. It made Hermione smile.  
  
“I understand that this is a shock for you, Althea, but he is still your father, and he is no different from before you were taken by the fairies. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”  
  
“I’m not afraid of him!” Althea exclaimed. “But he’s evil! Why did you marry him?”  
  
Hermione hesitated for a moment. “Because I love him,” she finally said with a firm voice. “And you can’t help who you fall in love with.”  
  
“But he is evil!” Althea exclaimed again.  
  
“People aren’t divided into good and evil,” Hermione said softly. “They are more complex than that. You know, like a knife can be used both for cooking and for killing someone. Your father is like that. I just make sure he cooks instead of kills.”  
  
Althea crossed her arms again and stared down at the floor. She didn’t want to take in what her mother was saying, she was still too angry at her parents for lying and taking away her friends.  
  
Hermione sighed. “Come on, Althea, it’s time for dinner.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” Althea spat.  
  
“Eat anyway,” Hermione said, her voice getting a hard edge.  
  
Althea grimaced but rose as her mother got up. There was no use arguing when her mother used that voice. Sighing, she followed, dragging her feet behind her.  
  
When she came down, Alexandra was already sitting there, her knees tucked up against her chest. She was still in her nightgown, despite it being five o’clock in the afternoon. Althea felt a sting of guilt. The only reason her sister was feeling so ill and so tired was because she had helped heal Althea. At least that’s what her mother had told her.  
  
“Will Dad be home for dinner today?” Alexandra asked. She even sounded tired. She was very pale as well, but at least she had managed to make it to the kitchen today. Yesterday, she had been asleep for most of the day.  
  
“I don’t know, honey,” Hermione said, waving her wand to set the table. “He had some things to take care off. He may not be back until tomorrow.”  
  
“Good,” Althea muttered under her breath.  
  
Her mother heard her and sent her a displeased look as she organised the packages of Chinese food. With another wave of her wand, the food was warm.  
  
“Do you think you can eat a little more now, Alexandra?” Hermione asked, serving her youngest daughter.  
  
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Alexandra said.  
  
Hermione smiled. “Good. You’ll be up and running in no time. Hopefully, you’ll be back in school at the beginning of next week.”  
  
The comment made Althea think of something. “Mum, am I going to Hogwarts?”  
  
Hermione hesitated, pouring food onto her plate. “We haven’t talked about it yet. And I don’t know the school’s policy for accepting students late into the semester. We’ll probably have to talk with the Headmistress. Do you want to go there now?”  
  
Althea shrugged. “Where else would I go to school?”  
  
“You could be home-schooled,” Hermione said, but something had her looking very thoughtful.  
  
Althea didn’t know what she would rather do. In one way, she’d love to get away from all this and go to Hogwarts and learn magic. But on the other hand, people would ask questions about where she had been, and she didn’t feel like talking about it. It was just so hard to talk about. The fairies had been nice to her and taught her so much about magic, but not the same type of magic as she had read about before. It was more … natural. She could feel her magic, and the magic around her. She could do magical things without a wand. The fairies had told her that there was nothing she couldn’t do if she just wanted it enough.  
  
The problem was that she didn’t know what she wanted anymore. She felt lost.  
  
The pop of someone Apparating came from the foyer. A moment later, Althea’s father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
“Oh, good, you managed to restore the kitchen,” he said as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t look as scary as he had done two days ago, but there was still something that wasn’t quite right in his look. Althea couldn’t put her finger on it, but it just felt … fake.  
  
“Temporarily, at least,” Hermione answered. “I may as well have used glue to get it back together. We will probably have to redo the kitchen once we got some time to spare. Whatever magic they used, it was strong.”  
  
He sighed and sat down. “Let’s just hire someone to do it. That’s what money is for, after all.” He transfigured a new plate for himself and started to dish up his food. “Nice to see you up and about, Alex. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Okay,” Alexandra answered, slowly chewing her food.  
  
“She is stronger than yesterday at least,” Hermione added. “She has been awake for a couple of hours now.”  
  
“Good. I’ll use stronger magic to heal you tonight. You’ll be as good as new in a matter of days. How about you, Althea? Still not talking to me?”  
  
Althea pretended to be too busy scooping food into her mouth to answer. But she could see her parents exchange a few looks. Her father was looking as if he was asking for permission for something, which her mother answered with a headshake.  
  
“Fine,” he sighed. “Later.”  
  
Hermione nodded. “How did it go this afternoon?”  
  
“Excellent. The Japanese Aurors seem convinced that it was some of Ken’s enemies that killed him. They were bringing in suspects just after I left,” he seemed very pleased about this.  
  
“That’s something at least. Do you think they will be convicted?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Yes, they will probably gather more evidence tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll find enough to get them locked up for a very long time.”  
  
Althea very much wanted to ask why Ken had died. Voldemort had told her the fairies had killed Ken, but now he was talking about some other enemies. Why was that? Nothing made sense anymore. However,she didn’t want to speak to her father, so she remained quiet even though she wondered and mourned about Ken. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. Ken had always been there, like an uncle, even though she didn’t get to see him that often.  
  
“How has your research been going?” he asked next.  
  
“Our daughters take priority, dear. And it was a pain to just make this house liveable again. We will have to do the research when everything has calmed down,” Hermione replied, her voice cool.  
  
“Fine,” he muttered.  
  
Althea stared down at her plate as she ate and listened to her parents chat in codes. She knew it was in codes, because even though she understood the words, she didn’t know what they were really talking about. When they were just talking about work, then Althea didn’t understand, but that was because they were using too many difficult words. Now the words were simple, but the meaning unclear. It annoyed her.  
  
“Mum, can I go back to bed?” Alexandra asked after a while.  
  
“Do you need any help?” Hermione asked, putting her fork down on her half-empty plate.  
  
“I can help her,” Althea volunteered and jumped off her seat. If her parents were going to speak in riddles all night, she didn’t want to just sit there.  
  
“I don’t need help,” Alexandra muttered, but she didn’t object when Althea took a hold of her hand and helped her up.  
  
“Okay, call if you need anything,” Hermione told the girls.  
  
“Mm,” Althea said and led Alexandra out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  
  
The sisters were silent until they reached Alexandra’s bedroom. Althea helped her get into bed and then sat down at the end of it, pulling her knees up to her chest. Alexandra stared at her for a moment.  
  
“Are you sad I brought you home?” Alexandra finally asked.  
  
Althea shrugged. She still hadn’t made up her mind on that one.  
  
“Is it because of Dad?”  
  
“Aren’t you angry at him? He’s a killer,” Althea said fiercely.  
  
“So?”  
  
“Killing is evil.”  
  
“Dad isn’t evil.”  
  
“Is too!”  
  
Alexandra crossed her arms. “Is not.”  
  
Althea crossed her arms over her knees. “You’ve heard the stories about Voldydorks. He killed Harry’s parents. He is evil.”  
  
“Harry is evil,” Alexandra spat. “He tried to kill Mum and Dad.”  
  
Althea had heard it before. “He was crazy.”  
  
“Dad was crazy before he met Mum. Mum made him better. She told me,” Alexandra said.  
  
“If he was really better, he would go to prison,” Althea answered. “Instead, he is hiding.”  
  
“Mum makes him better!” Alexandra objected. “If he goes to prison, Mum won’t be there for him, and he will go bad again.”  
  
“Mum shouldn’t have to!” Althea growled. “Mum would be better off without him.”  
  
“How can you say that? It’s Dad!” Alexandra exclaimed sitting up quickly.  
  
But she shouldn’t have done that. At once, Alexandra turned very pale and she fell down to her side.  
  
“MUM!” Althea screamed, scared.  
  
Her parents were in the room so fast, they must have Apparated.  
  
“We were just talking,” Althea cried, worried she had done anything to cause her sister’s distress, but denying it for herself.  
  
“Hush, it’s okay.” She was embraced by her father, and she clung tightly to him, sobbing.  
  
“She’s okay,” Hermione said just a moment later. “She just overexerted herself. She’s asleep.”  
  
“We were just talking,” Althea cried again, her words muffled by the fabric of her father’s shirt.  
  
“We know, dear,” her father said, stroking her hair. “Alexandra is just weak right now. She will be better soon.”  
  
Althea continued to sob for a moment, until she realised whom she was sobbing against. She froze. Her father must have felt it, because he sighed and withdrew.  
  
“Althea, this is getting ridiculous,” he said, failing to suppress his annoyance.  
  
“Talk about this in the other room,” Hermione cut in and ushered them outside.  
  
Confident that her mother was taking care of her sister, Althea made an attempt to sneak into her own room and lock the door, but her father followed as if there were no obstacle at all and closed the door behind him.  
  
“Althea,” he groaned.  
  
“Stay away from me, Voldydorks,” Althea spat, turning her back towards him.  
  
“Someone should be flogged for making up that name,” he muttered and gripped her shoulder, spinning her back around. “It’s Voldemort, Althea. _Vol-duh-more_.”  
  
Althea glared at him. “Voldydorks.”  
  
“If you call me that again, there will be no ice-cream or books for a month. Am I understood?” he said in his most serious voice.  
  
Althea pressed her lips together. She understood. Her father took his threats very seriously.  
  
“Excellent.” He let go of her and sat down on her bed, leaning back against the wall. “I know it must have come as a shock for you to find out who I am. But we can’t help who our parents are, Althea. You’ll have to come to terms with it, one way or another. So why don’t you tell me what is really bothering you right here and now, and we’ll deal with it.”  
  
Althea glared at him. “You are a killer.”  
  
“True, but I know you, Althea. You know killing is bad, but just like your sister, you have been too protected to know what that really means. You didn’t know any of the people I killed, so even though you know you should be angry at me for doing it, you aren’t really. You are just using that as an excuse for the real reason why you are angry with me.”  
  
“You killed Morgana!”  
  
He studied her for a moment. “Morgana was going to kill us, Althea. She was just using you.”  
  
There it was again, that cold hand, squeezing her heart. “Morgana was my friend, and you killed her!”  
  
He leaned forward on the bed. “So that’s why you are upset. You’re upset because your best friend turned out to be a fraud.”  
  
“Shut up! She wasn’t!” Althea couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks.  
  
Voldemort sighed and sank down on the floor, pulling her towards him. Althea tried to pull away, but her father was stronger than she. He transfigured a napkin and wiped her cheeks. When Althea tried to bite his hand, he withdrew.  
  
“I know it hurts to be betrayed, child,” he said softly. “I have been betrayed more times than I care to remember. But crying and sulking isn’t the way to deal with it. You are a bright and resourceful girl, Althea. You can get new, better friends.” He leaned forward. “When you feel like talking with me again, I’ll tell you a story about another boy who didn’t have any friends. At least not until he came to Hogwarts. I think you’ll like that one.”  
  
Before Althea could stop herself, she asked, “Who’s that boy?”  
  
“That would be me,” he said with a soft smile before getting up. He ruffled her hair on his way out and left Althea feeling sad and miserable, yet slightly curious as well.   


 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Time for a new chapter. I hope you’ll like it.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I’d like to thank my two favourite betas in the whole while world: Nerys and Shan. You guys have helped me so much! I don’t know where I would be without you. *Starts singing a serenade*
> 
>  
> 
> Anon review replies can be found here: http://tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 **Chapter 44  
  
"**We need to get a new bed," Voldemort stated as he sat down on their temporarily repaired bed. Hopefully, they could finally have an uninterrupted night of sleep. After the healing session, Alexandra should sleep until the morning. The only problem would be if Althea woke up, but he didn't think she would. She had been exhausted. **  
  
"** What we need is to talk," Hermione said. He could tell by her tone that he wasn't going to get any sleep just yet. Perhaps he should hex her and postpone it until tomorrow? No, that would just make it worse. **  
  
"** Fine, what is it?" Voldemort asked as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. Transfigured furniture was never as good as the real ones. **  
  
"** You seem to need a reminder that we aren't here just to cover up your tracks," Hermione said, coming to a stop at the end of the bed, her arms crossed. **  
  
"** What are you talking about?" Voldemort asked with a sigh. **  
  
"** You treat Althea as if you are just trying to get her to shut up. She is in pain, Voldemort! She needs sympathy and encouragement and to know that she is loved,  _and don't you dare snort at me_!" Her voice grew louder at the last part, showing just how angry she was. "You are not just the ex-Dark Lord Voldemort anymore;you are a father, and it's about fucking time you start acting like one. You have to put Althea's needs in front of your own." **  
  
**Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You seem to forget, dear wife, that if I don't put my own needs first, all hell will break lose, not just for me, but for this entire family. I don't think you want that." **  
  
"** Don't be such a drama queen," she hissed. "You know what I mean. We have Polyjuice Potion,which works perfectly and will last for a month at least. And we can always get more. It's just a mild inconvenience for you to have to drink it. And you have already fixed the acute problems with the Aurors. Now it's time to focus on making your daughter feel better. She just found out her father is a known mass-murderer and lost her only friends! The least you can do is make her see that she has nothing to fear from you. This is not something you can threaten and curse your way out of. You have to take responsibility." **  
  
"** Or what?" he challenged her. **  
  
**Hermione's eyes turned hard. "Or I'll expose you myself." **  
  
**Voldemort snorted. "You wouldn't." **  
  
"** Wouldn't I?" she asked, walking up to stand at the side of the bed. "You know me, Voldemort. I'll do anything for my family, for the people I love. But there are two people in the world that I love more than you. So I dare you to tell me one thing I wouldn't do for them." **  
  
**Voldemort stared at her in disbelief. She was telling the truth. He rose from the bed, towering over her. **  
  
"** I would never let you do that." **  
  
"** You can't stop me," she spat. **  
  
"** The spell—" **  
  
**She interrupted him by laughing. "We've been married for a long time, Voldemort. Don't you think I know how you construct spells by now? I broke your spell over me ages ago. You know it,too; you just don't want to think about it. Because you hate that you actually have to trust me." **  
  
**He gripped her throat. "Don't you dare cross me, witch." **  
  
"** Don't you dare mistreat my children, wizard," she retorted. **  
  
**They held each other's gazes for a long moment, none of them yielding. He squeezed her throat, not strangling her, just needing to show her who was in control. But she continued to stare back, not even blinking. **  
  
**Several minutes had gone by when he suddenly felt his body changing. He pushed her back onto the bed before turning around so he could grimace freely at the unpleasant sensation. But he would let the change occur. She could use being reminded of who he truly was. **  
  
**He opened his eyes again when the changing had occurred. He lifted his hand, studying the long, pale fingers. "Perhaps you just like seeing me like this." **  
  
**He turned around, smirking. **  
  
**Hermione glared at him. "You won't get out of this by flirting, Voldemort." **  
  
"** Who said anything about flirting?" he purred, closing the distance between the two of them. "You know I'm not impossible, kitten. If you want to fuck me in this shape, all you have to do is ask." **  
  
**Hermione backhanded him. "I want you to take responsibility as a father." **  
  
**His smirk disappeared as he stroked the tender skin of his cheek. "I have managed these past eight years, Hermione. I've always taken care of the girls in my own way, and they have loved me **—** just as any other child loves their parents. Althea will get over it." **  
  
"** Yes, if she gets the attention she needs! Even the Healer said so!" Hermione growled. "We have to focus all that we can on her for the coming weeks." **  
  
"** These things with the Aurors won't fix themselves, dear," he said coldly. **  
  
"** I know that," she spat. "Of course we have to take care of that, as well as making sure Alex gets better. But less important things will have to wait. We should take some leave from work for the next couple of weeks, too." **  
  
**He regarded her coldly for a moment, thinking. "Very well. We'll prioritise Althea. But I think we have a very different idea of how to treat her. I won't treat her any differently from the way I always have. She needs things to get back to normal, not being treated like she is about to break at any moment." **  
  
"** But she can!" Hermione cried. "Can't you see how sad she is?" **  
  
"** She will toughen up." **  
  
"** She needs time!" **  
  
"** So for me to be a good parent, I must be exactly like you?" **  
  
"** Yes," she growled. **  
  
"** Why?" he asked. "Do you think you are a better parent than I am?" **  
  
**He could see in her eyes that she thought so. It made him angry. **  
  
"** So you think just because you love them, you are a better parent," he said softly. "Even though your emotions get in the way of your better judgement time and time again." **  
  
**She scoffed. "So you **'** re trying to tell me that you **'** re a better parent because you don't love them?" **  
  
"** Yes," he hissed. "I know what they need, and I'm capable of giving it to them. I don't need to love them to be able to comfort them." **  
  
"** How could you even know the difference? No one ever loved you as a child," she spat, her anger clearly getting the better of her. **  
  
**He looked at her, unimpressed by her attempted insult. **  
  
"** We will talk to the Healer tomorrow and ask what she thinks the best way to treat Althea is," he said coldly. "And I will tell you, 'I told you so' when she agrees with me." **  
  
**Hermione glared at him for several seconds until finally pushing herself off the bed. "I don't want to look at you right now." **  
  
**She pushed him aside as she made her way towards the bathroom. However, Voldemort wasn't done with her. She wanted his promise to prioritise Althea, and he just had.Now it was time to resolve another issue. **  
  
**He grabbed her from behind and pushed her up against the wall, her left arm stuck between her body and the wall, and her right arm twisted up behind her. **  
  
"** Voldemort, what the fuck?" she cried, trying to struggle free. **  
  
"** Now, about your plan to expose me if I don't do what you want," he hissed, not bothering to control his anger anymore. "Are you stupid,or is it the lack of sleep making you irrational? You know the Aurors wouldn't catch me. You know it wouldn't make you get rid of me. I'd come back for you before the Aurors arrest you for harbouring a criminal,and I would punish you, and our lives would be ruined forever. You'd have to give up Althea and Alexandra unless you wanted to doom them to a life forever on the run." **  
  
**He spun her around and slapped her. "Get yourself together, witch. I can't have you acting this stupid if we are to get through this." **  
  
**She got her arm free and slapped him back. He let her. He knew it would help her wind down. **  
  
"** How many times are we going to have this fight?" Voldemort asked softly. **  
  
"** Clearly once more," she said through gritted teeth. "Since you still see it prudent to threaten me and the girls every time things don't go your way." **  
  
**She pushed him away once again. "But then, it kills you that you have you trust us, doesn't it? You can't stand being without full control. And it just kills you that, ever since you married me, you haven't had it." **  
  
"** Are you trying to make me kill you?" he whispered, barely keeping his temper in check. **  
  
**Hermione's eyes were cold. "You could never do that. Deep down, you know how dependent you are on me. You have so many logical reasons to be with me. And all you have to rely on for me to stay with you is that I love you. But love isn't logical. You know that much at least. Which is why you also know that I'll kill you long before you can kill me." **  
  
**He slashed his wand at her, and she flew back, rolling halfway across the bed before stopping on her back. He came at her with his wand raised, ready to kill her. He had to kill her. No one could get away with talking like that to him. No one could get away with threatening him! It didn't matter who she was, or what they had done, he would not let her live through this. **  
  
**There was no fear in her eyes. She slowly moved up, so that she was leaning back on her elbows, not taking her eyes off of him. Her wand was still in her hand, but she didn't raise it to defend herself. It made him even angrier. **  
  
**With a growl, he got jumped on the bed, straddled her legs and pressed his wand against her throat. **  
  
**The spell to end her life was at his lips. He had cast it so many times in the past. Countless of times. He knew he could do it. He knew what the result would be. So did she. **  
  
**So why was she looking so unimpressed? **  
  
**He pressed the wand deeper into her throat. The first syllable was forming on his tongue. He could feel his magic building inside him, ready to lash out at her. To forever remove that fire in her eyes. **  
  
**Several seconds passed. Too many seconds. It had never taken him this long to prepare to cast a spell before. Especially not this spell. Once he had made up his mind, he cast it quicker than everyone. He never had any guilt or regret holding him back. Not then, not now. **  
  
**So why wasn't he casting it? **  
  
**He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His grip of his wand weakened. **  
  
**Her left hand came up to his wand, pushing it away from her body. He couldn't stop her. He couldn't cast the spell. For the first time ever, he couldn't cast the Killing Curse. **  
  
"** What have you done tome?" he whispered. It had to be her fault. His magic couldn't fail him! **  
  
"** Nothing," she said softly. "But I know you, Voldemort. You are angry with me, but you wouldn't want to kill me. You would never kill me. You need me. Maybe you don't want to believe it, but your magic does." **  
  
**He stared at her, shocked. She was right. Of course, she must be right. What else could it be? His magic had stopped him,because he knew he wanted her alive much more than he wanted her dead. If she were dead, she would be of no more use to him. **  
  
**That had to be it. Anything else was unthinkable. **  
  
**Yet, he had a hard time believing it had happened at all. That his magic hadn't followed his will. It scared him. **  
  
**Hermione stroked his cheek. "Let's stop the fighting for tonight. It's late. We need sleep. We need to be there for Althea and Alexandra tomorrow." **  
  
**He nodded, slowly. **  
  
**She sighed and pushed him lightly, so she could get away from underneath him. He allowed her to do it, still feeling shocked and quite numb. Yes, sleep seemed to be the best action right now. That probably had something to do with … all of this. He was too tired to think straight. If he had been at his peak, he would never even have tried to kill Hermione. Yes. That must also be it. His subconscious was helping him.

xxx

 **  
**Hermione managed to keep her legs from shaking until she made it into the bathroom. Once inside, she sank down on the floor, shaking so badly her teeth were chattering. **  
  
**He had tried to kill her. Her husband had actually tried to kill her. She had always known it was probably just a matter of time. His paranoia and emotional dysfunctionality was really aggravating to live with. He couldn't stand being talked back to, but there was only so much bullshit she could take before she snapped. Not that it gave him the right to try to kill her! Merlin's sake, no. **  
  
**She didn't want to be surprised. He was Lord Voldemort, and she knew exactly what he was capable of. But a part of her was surprised. And wounded. Voldemort had done so much to protect her. It had been just a few days ago when he had stopped a curse from hitting her! Why would he try to actually kill her now? Was the line so easy to cross for him? **  
  
**Of course it was. He had done this for longer than she had lived.It was why she'd taken precautions. Yet, it still hurt that they'd been necessary. **  
  
**No, she shouldn't be surprised. Thus, she focused on her other emotions. She was angry, and at the same time, so utterly relieved. **  
  
**It had worked. **  
  
**Better yet, Voldemort hadn't realised a thing. His arrogance and fear had helped her fool him. He didn't want to think that there was anyway anyone else could control him. Thus, he didn't want to realise that she could control his magic. **  
  
**Or rather, her magic. **  
  
**Merlin, it was a blessing in disguise that he had been feeding off of her magic for all this time. It was many years ago when she had started to see the benefit of him taking the magic they created when they had sex. The magic was still tied to her when they were having sex, even though it was going into him. And just like she had control over all her magic, there was some ways she could control the magic inside of him. **  
  
**She had begun researching it soon after their wedding. It was unbelievably foolish of him to think that she would ever let him get away with being able to hurt her and their children. There was no way she could ever let him have that power. Thus, she had found a way to stop him, if needed. Like tonight. She would never allow Voldemort to take her away from her children. **  
  
**She had placed a magical block inside of him. Fed it to him, little by little, while they had sex. He hadn't noticed a thing. And unless he tried to harm any of them seriously, he would never notice a thing. All it did was stop his magic at her command. **  
  
**He didn't want to realise that. Just like he hadn't wanted to pretend that she had removed his curse from her ages ago. **  
  
**As her shaking eased, she found herself biting back a chuckle. **  
  
** _Stupid, arrogant prick._ **  
  
**Merlin, it would have been so satisfying to rub it in his face. To show him that she wasn't under his control. No, he was under hers. However, that would break the tentative peace they had established,and she couldn't be selfish. She hadn't lied;they needed to prioritise Althea. **  
  
**At least she knew it worked. That was a huge relief. He wouldn't be able to hurt any of them with his magic. Not that she thought it was a big risk. She knew how much he needed them all. If there were anyone at risk in this family, it was him. Especially now that Althea hated him. **  
  
**Hermione wondered how long it would take before Althea's temper and magic got the better of her, and Hermione had to protect Voldemort instead.

xxx

 **  
**Althea woke up the next day, feeling disconnected from reality. It was hard to explain, even to herself. She just didn't know how to deal with everything. Therefore, she simply did what she would normally do after waking up; she went to the loo, got dressed,and made her way down for breakfast. **  
  
**At the top of the stairs, she paused. The door to her parents' room was open, suggesting they were already up and about. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see her parents yet. **  
  
**Her eyes fell on the closed door to her sister's room. Perhaps she should go and see how Alex was before going down to breakfast? Somehow, it would be easier to face Voldemort with Alexandra there. **  
  
**She carefully opened the door; if her sister were asleep, she didn't want to wake her. Just peeking inside, she was surprised to see her father sitting next to the bed, his wand over Alexandra. There was a soft green shimmer over Alexandra's body, and she looked as if she was sleeping. For a moment, Althea thought he was hurting her, but then, Alexandra opened her eyes. **  
  
"** Will you be done soon?" Alexandra asked, looking at her father. **  
  
"** In a moment, precious," Voldemort replied, squeezing her hand. "But the healing is clearly helping if you have enough energy to be impatient." **  
  
**Alexandra sighed; then her eyes caught Althea, and she smiled. **  
  
"** Althea!" **  
  
**Reluctantly, Althea entered the room. **  
  
"** Hi, Alex," she said, trying to ignore her father. "How are you feeling?" **  
  
"** Lots better," Alexandra replied, and she did sound more cheerful than she had the other day. "But I'm hungry." **  
  
**The shimmer around Alexandra's body disappeared,and Voldemort put his wand away. "Good thing I'm done. Why don't we go down for breakfast?" **  
  
**He made his way out the room, and Alexandra and Althea followed at a slower pace. **  
  
"** Can we play something after breakfast?" Alexandra asked. **  
  
"** What do you want to play?" Althea asked, feeling a bit happier. It felt like ages since she last played with her sister, and it was a good sign that Alexandra felt strong enough to play. **  
  
"** Hogwarts!" Alexandra exclaimed just as they reached the stairs. **  
  
**Althea felt a strange tug in her chest. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, she had wanted nothing more than go to Hogwarts. Then she had seen Lupin and Potter and been scared,and then,Morgana had come… **  
  
**She hadn't wanted to go to Hogwarts after Morgana had showed up. Now, Althea found that a bit strange. How could she have forgotten how much she had looked forward to go to Hogwarts? **  
  
"** You can play teacher again," Alexandra began to ramble. "And show me all those things with the wand. Do you think Dad will let us use his spare again so I can try something,too? Or can I use yours? Or do you want to play the Sorting? I could be the hat!" **  
  
**Althea shook off her confusion and tried to just focus on her sister. It didn't matter what had happened. She and her sister could play Hogwarts again, and that was fun at least.

xxx

 **  
**Hermione had just served herself some tea when Voldemort entered the kitchen. She could hear her daughters talking upstairs, making their way down. **  
  
"** How did it go?" she asked, not looking at him. **  
  
"** Good. A few more days, and she'll be as good as new," Voldemort replied, pouring himself some tea before sitting down next to her. **  
  
**They didn't say another word to each other as the girls entered the room, talking about playing. They didn't notice the tension between their parents, and Hermione was thankful for that. **  
  
**Voldemort had pretended to sleep once she finally made it to bed the night before. She knew he had only pretended because he never fell asleep before she did. Exhaustion, however, had finally taken its toll on her, and she had got a few hours of uneasy sleep. **  
  
"** Dad, can I borrow your other wand?" Alexandra asked, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "We're going to play Hogwarts, and I want to shoot some stars!" **  
  
"** I'm sorry, honey, but you have to be very careful with your magic over the next few days," Voldemort answered her, slicing some cheese for his sandwiches. "But once you are better, I'll teach you some new spells." **  
  
"** Really?" Alexandra gasped in delight, her cereal-filled spoon stopping halfway to her mouth. **  
  
"** Yes, it's part of your rehabilitation," Voldemort said with a smile. **  
  
"** Reba-what?" Alexandra asked, frowning. **  
  
"** To make sure you are healed," he explained. "But if you want to play Hogwarts, I can transfigure your room to look like a classroom." **  
  
"** Yay!" Alexandra squealed. "Thanks, Dad!" **  
  
**Hermione forced herself not to snort. At least he was trying to show his best side to his daughters. It was something. However, judging by Althea's sullen expression, he wasn't succeeding. Not yet at least. Hermione was starting to suspect that now Voldemort was fully committed to make Althea like him again, he would make it so. No one could stand against Voldemort's charm. **  
  
**When the other three were done with breakfast, they disappeared up the stairs to start to play. Hermione stayed where she was, pouring herself another cup of tea and summoning the Daily Prophet. She hadn't dared to look at it earlier. It was just a matter of time before the media found out what had happened. It was just a question on what came first: Harry's imprisonment, Ken's death, or Althea's return. That a student had disappeared from the Hogwarts Express had received a whole spread, where the journalist questioned the security of the children. **  
  
**Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the newspaper. Harry's face stared back at her, looking serious and collected. The headline was " _Harry Potter arrested for attempted murder_." **  
  
**She opened the newspaper and found the article. Reading through it, the only thing she felt was relief that none of their names had been mentioned. Tamsin deserved a raise. No doubt she had threatened to sue the Daily Prophet if they printed their names. The last thing they need was a lot of curious people and journalists stopping by. **  
  
**Scanning through the rest of the newspaper, she found a notice of Ken's death (where he was only mentioned as a foreign professor here on business), and a half-page long article of **"** _Missing Hogwarts student returned safely_. **"** That was good. Those two articles would not be noticed with Harry on the front page. Hopefully, no one outside the Auror force would connect Ken's death with Althea's reappearance. **  
  
**She finished her tea at the same time as Voldemort came back downstairs. She pushed the newspaper to him. He just glanced at the front page. **  
  
"** Are we mentioned?" **  
  
**She shook her head. **  
  
"** Good. Tamsin managed to threaten the right people," Voldemort said, starting to clear the table. **  
  
"** Apparently so," Hermione replied quietly and got up to leave. **  
  
**Before she reached the doorway, Voldemort grabbed her arm, stopping her. She looked at him questioningly. She didn't want to start a new fight with him, but she didn't want to talk to him more than she absolutely had to. **  
  
"** When are you going to get over this?" he asked. **  
  
"** Don't hold your breath," she replied, making an unsuccessful attempt to remove her arm from his hold. **  
  
**He wouldn't let go of her. **"** I'm sorry," he said. **  
  
**She sighed. "No,you aren't." **  
  
**He took a deep breath and let go of her arm. "But I'm apologising. I was tired. My temper—" **  
  
"** Yes, yes, I know. It's everyone's fault but yours," she remarked bitterly. **  
  
"** Hermione," he said, sighing. "You know I don't want to hurt you. Or the girls." **  
  
"** Yes, I know." **  
  
"** And I didn't hurt you last night, I just…" he trailed off,grimacing. **  
  
**Hermione didn't say anything. The least he could to was squirm for a few days. Not that he actually regretted his actions, but he would be lying low, so he wouldn't upset her further. That was just what she needed right now. Some peace and quietness. **  
  
"** Let's just keep our distance for a few days," Hermione said in a low voice. She did not want to disturb the girls. "We'll focus on the girls and then … we'll see." **  
  
**She turned around and walked up the stairs. Behind her, she could hear Voldemort curse under his breath.But he didn't try to come after her.Good. That meant he understood just how pissed she was and that he would have to actually work to get her back. Even though Hermione had stopped him, she was not letting him get away that easily with trying to kill her. Oh no. He would have to redeem himself.

xxx

 **  
**After the Mental Healer had been there, Althea stayed in the library, thinking about taking refuge in her books. Alas, it didn't take long until her parents entered, sitting down to read their own things. Nevertheless, Althea stayed. She could disappear into the world of the books. At least, that was the plan, until her father interrupted her. **  
  
"** What are you reading?" he asked. **  
  
**Althea looked up, frowning at him. Even before she had found out that he was Voldemort, her father had never been that interested in what she read for her own amusement. He was more for giving her books he thought she should read. **  
  
"** The Hogwarts book," Althea muttered, hoping that would make him lose interest. **  
  
"** Haven't you read it before?" he asked. To her great annoyance, he put a mark in the book he was reading and turned his whole attention on her. **  
  
"** Yeah. So?" **  
  
"** Well, I was just thinking that maybe you would like to learn something new about Hogwarts?" he suggested. **  
  
"** Marcus," Hermione said, looking up with a frown. She was sitting curled up in an armchair at the opposite side of the library from Althea, going through some old parchment. "I must have read that book twenty times growing up. It was one of my favourites." **  
  
**Voldemort sighed. "Fine. But still, you and I could tell her a lot more about the castle than that book ever covers. It doesn't even take up the Room of Requirement.Or why the Whomping Willow is on the school grounds. Or the true story about the Chamber of Secrets." **  
  
** _Stupid parents, making her curious against her will_.  **  
  
**Althea looked down in her book again, trying to focus, but she wanted to know what her father was talking about. She had only read the myth of the Chamber of Secrets. What could Voldemort know about it? **  
  
"** Mum?" Alexandra called from her room.After playing with Althea, Alexandra had been exhausted and gone to bed, but now she must have woken up from her nap. **  
  
"** Coming," Hermione replied, carefully putting the parchments on the table before rising. She gave Voldemort a strict look before she left the room. **  
  
**She had only just closed the door when Voldemort turned to Althea again. "Do you want to hear a story?" **  
  
"** No," Althea muttered. **  
  
"** Well, you will anyway, so pay attention." He summoned the book from her hands and looked at which page she was on. "Ah, you have only just started. You **'** re still reading about the founders. Which one do you think is the coolest?" **  
  
**She shrugged. **  
  
**Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Well, there are a lot of things that aren't covered here. Like how the founders had families all over the world. Perhaps I should tell you one of those stories?" **  
  
**Althea didn't answer. She was curious, but at the same time… No, she didn't know what she wanted. Thus, she kept quiet. **  
  
"** Once upon a time, there was a boy called Tom Riddle," Voldemort started, his voice getting that alluring tone,which made it impossible for her not to listen. "His father had abandoned him before he was even born, and his mother had been weak and died at his birth. He was left alone at an orphanage in London, hated by everyone just because he was different. It was a Muggle orphanage,and he was a wizard. Since no one from the magical world saw fit to contact him, he didn't know he was a wizard. He just knew he was different. **  
  
"** His only friends were the snakes he occasionally found in the garden. He could talk to snakes, but no one else could, so he didn't tell anyone about his abilities. The snakes kept his secrets. He told them about all the weird things he could do, like making things fly by just looking at them and making people do things if he wanted them to. The snakes listened, but they were not great companions. Tom wanted human friends. **  
  
"** Then,when he was eleven-and-a-half, a strange man came to see him. He told Tom about wizards and magic, and how Tom had been admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, **"** Voldemort paused, looking into the distance. "Once he got a hold of real wizarding books, Tom read everything he could about this strange new world. He was afraid the people there would be just as hateful as the people at the orphanage. Still, he would go there, because at least he would be with people who could teach him more about himself and his magic." **  
  
**Against her will, Althea got curious. Her father had always been great at storytelling. "Did he make any friends?" **  
  
"** Oh yes," Voldemort answered softly. "But it was hard. He got into Slytherin, and there were mostly pure-bloods there. Some of them didn't want to accept him at first, since he was an orphan from the Muggle world. But Tom was clever and powerful, and once he started to excel at his classes, the other students were eager to have him as a friend."  **  
  
**Voldemort smiled. "Not only that, but he soon discovered that one of the Founders of Hogwarts, Salazar Slytherin, could speak to snakes as well. It is a very unusual gift, passed down from parent to child. Tom was the last heir of Salazar Slytherin." **  
  
**Althea gasped. "I can talk to snakes,too!" **  
  
**He chuckled. "Indeed. You see, Tom grew up, and when he was older, he met a woman named Hermione Granger. They had sex, and nine months later, Salazar Slytherin got another heir, Althea Granger." He smiled at her. "Being my daughter isn't all bad, Althea. Of course, most of this will have to stay a secret, but the important thing is that you know just how special you are." **  
  
**Althea felt her chest tighten. **"** I know I'm special. Morgana always says so." **  
  
**From the corner of her eye, she could see her father clench his fist. However, it only lasted for a second, then he relaxed his hand again. **  
  
"** Yes, she was right about that at least," he said to Althea's surprise. **  
  
**She glanced up at him. He was staring off into the distance with a troubled expression on his face. He must want her to see that he was troubled. Usually, she could never read his expressions. He always wore a mask of calm or indifference if he didn't lose his temper. If he lost his temper, the whole world could see how angry he was. It had only happened a few times, for as far she knew, though. When she had seen him like that, it had all been during extreme circumstances. **  
  
"** You haven't cried over Ken," she said out loud, suddenly realising how strange that was. **  
  
**Voldemort looked at her, smiling tiredly. "Have you ever seen me cry at all?" **  
  
**Althea frowned, thinking hard. Then,she shook her head. "But Ken was your best friend. You must be sad." **  
  
"** Of course I am sad," he stated softly. "But I'm not one who cries when I'm sad. I take action. I avenged Ken." **  
  
**Althea's frown deepened. "But you lied to the Aurors about what happened. They think some other people killed Ken. You told me the fairies did it." **  
  
**If her father could lie so carelessly to the Aurors, what was to say he wasn't lying to her? Could she ever trust another word her father said to her again? **  
  
**Voldemort sighed and leaned towards her in the armchair. "I lied to the Aurors to protect myself. I can't have them finding out about me. They will kill me if they do. Do you understand that?" **  
  
**Her expression darkened,and she crossed her arms. "Yeah, you deserve that." **  
  
**He looked almost wounded. "Do you really think so, Althea? Do you really hate me so much that you want to see me dead?" **  
  
**Althea hesitated, feeling uneasy. "You are evil." **  
  
"** The world is not divided into good and evil, Althea. It all depends on where you are standing. I know that a lot of people think I'm evil, but that's because they are scared of my power. They don't want me to win, because that will mean they'll lose their power." **  
  
"** But you have done evil things! You have killed people!" Althea objected. **  
  
"** So has your mother. So has Harry Potter. The only reason people don't think they are evil is because they did it in the name of some 'greater good'. They don't even dare to stand up and take responsibility for their own actions." **  
  
"** But they do good things,too," Althea retorted. "Harry put away dangerous people and brought justice; and Mum is a teacher; and she helps students; and she is nice."  
 **  
"** I'm a teacher that helps students,too," Voldemort reminded her. "And I do a lot of other good things,too. I was a part in creating you, after all. How can I be evil, when I made something as perfect as you?" **  
  
**Althea squirmed in her seat, not sure how to best approach her father. "Morgana did good things,too, but you still killed her. That is evil." **  
  
"** Once again, that was self-defense. If we hadn't killed her, she would have killed us. But … if it is justice you seek, then fine." Suddenly, he got down on his knees on the floor, in front of her. With a wave of his wand, her own wand came flying into her hand. **  
  
"** Avenge Morgana, Althea. That's what you really want. You don't care if I'm good or evil, you just want to avenge your friend. So fine. Do what you want to me. If you really think it will be best if I am dead, then kill me yourself." **  
  
**Althea stared at him, horrified. Did her father really want her to...? **  
  
**Voldemort took her left hand and placed his wand in it, before letting go. She felt the much longer wand grow warm in her hand. She stared at it, and then,up to her father again. He was staring at her, his face very serious. **  
  
"** Go ahead. Do what you need to avenge your friend. I won't stop you," he stated, showing his empty hands. **  
  
**Althea slowly rose from the armchair. Sitting on his knees with his back straight, her father was almost the same height as her. He was just an arm's length away. The room around them had gone terribly silent. She couldn't even hear the murmur of her mother's voice, reading to Alexandra. It was just her and Voldemort. **  
  
**Lord Voldemort. **  
  
**The Dark Lord. **  
  
**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. **  
  
**Someone she had learned to fear and hate, long before she found out who he really was. Everyone hated him. She remembered James Potter bragging about how he would seek Voldemort out when he was older and finish off what his father had started. He had talked about Voldemort like he was an animal that needed to be put down. **  
  
**Althea had agreed. Voldemort had just been a monster to her before. Now he was kneeling here, in her father's features. Staring at her with her father's dark-blue eyes. He didn't look like a monster. Despite everything she knew he had done, everyone he had killed and hurt, he didn't look like a monster. **  
  
**For a moment, she wanted him to look like a monster. She wanted him to look like he had done in the cellar two nights before. Then she could have cursed him. **  
  
**Now, she found that she couldn't. His wand was in her hand. She knew curses. Nothing that could kill someone, but she knew curses that could hurt and make him bleed. If she made him bleed enough, then he would die. She knew that. **  
  
**But she couldn't. **  
  
**Her eyes welled with tears. She dropped both wands, reached out and slapped her father across the face. A loud "SMACK" resounded through the library. She spun around and raced out of the library, angrily brushing her tears away. **  
**


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people. First of all, I want to apologise for the way the former chapter looked. For some reason, FF have stopped accepting the formation of documents who have been through Google Drive, so I had to repost and reedit the last chapter five times or so before it came out alright. However, there may still be some words paste together, so I apologise for that. My A/N in that chapter also disappeared, so I didn’t get to thank Nerys and Shan for helping me.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, to this chapter, I first apologise for the delay, real life is hectic since this is my last semester before I get my master degree. But here it is, and I hope this will be readable once I post it.
> 
>  
> 
> Once again, I’d like to thank Nerys and Shan for all the help they’ve given me betaing and brainstorming and what not. You are the best!
> 
>  
> 
> I’d also like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing! Anon review replies can be found here: tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/t144-shared-flame-review-response-ffnet

 

 

**Chapter 45**

 

“You did _what_?” Hermione roared, whipping her wand out, ready to hex her husband into oblivion.

 

Voldemort quickly put up a shield and did his best to hold it up as she threw curse after curse at him. Needless to say, she was not impressed by his offer to Althea to let her kill him. Even though it had worked wonderfully. Althea had realised she didn’t want her father dead and had cried herself to sleep. No doubt would she feel a lot better tomorrow.

 

Once her curses finally stopped bouncing off his shield, he lowered it and looked at the destruction caused to the room. Good thing they hadn’t bothered to buy any new furniture yet.

 

“She said she wanted to see me dead. There is no talking anyone out of that. They have to realise for themselves if they are able to do it or not. Althea isn’t.”

 

“And what would you have done if she had been?” Hermione hissed, stalking up to him, wand still in her hand, twitching.

 

Voldemort scoffed. “I know a killer when I see one, Hermione. Althea has a temper, but she is not a killer.”

 

“That does _not_ make it okay!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms up before starting to pace around the room. “For Merlin’s sake, Voldemort, you can’t just do things like this all the time.”

 

“Things like this?”

 

“Being you!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, who would you like me to be? Harry Potter who tries to kill us, or Ron Weasley who just tries to kill our unborn baby?”

 

She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”

 

“No, actually, I don’t,” Voldemort said truthfully, taking a deep breath. “I realise I’m not a perfect husband—”

 

She snorted.

 

“—but it’s not like we can change that. At least I did what you asked me to do. I spent time with Althea and I prioritised her. I’ll continue to spend time with Althea. It will be easier now when she doesn’t think she wants to kill me. I think that can be considered progress,” he finished, ignoring her glares.

 

Hermione stared at him for a few more seconds. Then she sighed. “There is no point talking to you.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight. Don’t even think about disturbing me.”

 

She spun around and left the room without another word. Voldemort let out a growl once the door closed. He kicked the broken bed. Why was she acting like this? So what if he had almost tried to kill her?

 

Voldemort sighed. Of course she was angry because of that. He knew her better than she knew herself. She would only focus on that he had tried to kill her, not that he hadn’t succeeded. To her, it was just as bad. He would have to find a way to make her forget about it. Alas, he couldn’t _make_ her forget about it. She had become too good at Occlumency over the years. It didn’t stop him from breaking into her mind if he needed, of course, but it did stop him from meddling with it. Thus, the only thing he could do was suck it up, and he hated doing that.

 

Not feeling like sleeping, he went to the library instead. He should take the opportunity to research Merlin’s scrolls and books, but once he sat with the book in front of him, he found his thoughts wandering.

 

Things had gone so well between them lately. Althea getting kidnapped had really strengthened their bond. The common anger, the break-in at Gringotts, saving each other, fighting off the fairies … he had known he could count on her. But then Althea ruined it all by hating him.

 

Yes, it was Althea’s fault, even though Voldemort would never point that out to his wife. Hermione was unreasonable that way. It wouldn’t help to blame Althea, especially since she was starting to get over it. Hopefully Hermione would feel better once Althea were getting along with him again. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Hermione would keep up appearances for the sake of their children, but she would be cold and distant when they were on their own.

 

He didn’t want that. Not at all. He wanted her underneath him, moaning and writhing, screaming out his name. He wanted her by his side, reading Merlin’s books. He wanted her in his lap, kissing him!

 

Who would have thought he missed kissing so much?

 

He groaned and fell back in the armchair. Why did she have to provoke him so much? Did she get off on making him angry? That would explain a great deal. However, she didn’t seem able to deal with the consequences.

 

Then again, she would say exactly the same thing to him. He grimaced and closed his eyes. Why was family life so hard? He was too clever to be a father and a husband. He knew there were better things to do than taking care of your family. However, the rest of society behaved as if you had to stop prioritising yourself once you had a family. Hermione certainly bought into that.

 

He didn’t know how long he lay there, cursing the world around him, before he fell asleep. He woke up by someone closing the door.

 

It was Hermione. She stood in front of him with her arms crossed, looking at him, eyebrows arched in question.

 

“What?” he asked tiredly.

 

“You are researching. Again.”

 

“Well, it was not like there was anything else keeping me occupied at night. A man needs his pleasures,” he replied sourly. His body was stiff from sleeping sitting up.

 

Hermione sighed. “Fine, be that way.”

 

Voldemort groaned. Before she had time to turn around and leave, he grabbed her and pulled her down on his lap.

 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just tired. I didn’t plan to fall asleep here.”

 

She didn’t look impressed. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Voldemort.”

 

He sighed, annoyed. “What do you have against me saying I’m sorry? I may not feel remorse, but I am capable of apologising, and knowing when I should. It’s common courtesy.”

 

She sighed. “I don’t feel like doing this now. I was just going down to make breakfast.”

 

“I’ll make breakfast,” he said. “Go and get ready for the day instead. Tamsin is coming by to give us an update at ten.”

 

She made an attempt to rise, but he kept her in his lap. She looked at him in question.

 

“I will make it up to you, kitten. Just as you did to me when you tried to kill me.”

 

There was a second of confusion on her face, before she realised what he was talking about. Once she did, she nodded once, got off his lap again and left the room.

 

Voldemort stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. He would make Althea’s favourite breakfast, pancakes with apples.

 

Half an hour later, the whole family was gathered in the kitchen. Voldemort served the pancakes for each of them. When he got to Althea, he held up the plate.

 

“How many would you like, Althea? I’ve made them especially for you.”

 

Althea looked up at him, startled. She seemed to have been lost in her own thoughts the whole morning. After a second of suspicion, she held out her plate. “Three.”

 

He placed them onto her plate, making sure to give her extra apple crumbles. “There you go.”

 

“Thanks,” Althea said, looking at her plate, “Dad.”

 

Voldemort smirked in victory. “You’re most welcome, my dear.”

 

He glanced at Hermione and saw her watching the exchange in shock. He winked at her, before serving himself and sitting down to eat.

 

“Mum, can we do something today?” Alexandra asked, her voice on the edge of becoming whiny. “It’s so boring to just be at home all the time.”

 

Hermione blinked, and finally managed to move her eyes away from him. “Maybe. What did you have in mind, Alex?”

 

Alexandra shrugged. “Dunno. Something fun.”

 

“Do you have a suggestion, Althea?” Voldemort asked, whilst wolfing down his pancakes. He was hungry.

 

Althea swallowed her mouthful of pancakes. “I’d like to go to the ocean.”

 

 

“Oh yeah, let’s do that!” Alexandra exclaimed happily.

 

Voldemort turned to Hermione. “What do you say, love?”

 

Hermione glanced out the window. “If we can find somewhere still warm, then sure. I don’t fancy lying on the beach if it’s like how it is here.”

 

“Let’s go to the south coast of France after noon,” Voldemort suggested. “Just get away from all of this?”

 

“I want to go now!” Alexandra whined.

 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but your mother and I have a meeting to attend first. But why don’t you and Althea start getting organised by collecting all the things you want to bring to the beach?” Voldemort suggested, finishing his pancakes.

 

“I want to go now,” Alexandra muttered, but more to herself than them. Instead, she went back to eating her pancakes.

 

Voldemort rolled his eyes. She could be such an ungrateful child sometimes.

 

He left the kitchen and went upstairs to get ready for the day and change into some non-transfigured robes. When he came out of bathroom some twenty minutes later, Hermione was standing in the bedroom, her eyes narrowed.

 

“What could I possibly have done wrong now?” he asked with a sigh.

 

She scowled. “Don’t give me that, Voldemort. What did you do to Althea?”

 

“You know what I did. You tried to curse me for it last night.”

 

“Oh no, you can’t make me believe that everything is okay between you two now, just because you offered her the chance to kill you!”

 

Voldemort sighed. “I tried to tell you last night that Althea needed to realise she doesn’t hate me as much as she thinks she does. Now she has.”

 

“But that isn’t—”

 

“I know,” he interrupted her, holding up his hands. “I know that isn’t enough. Which is why I’m taking you all to the beach instead of just making them something to play with here, so I can research.”

 

He came up to her and placed his hands on her shoulder. “I’ve said that I’ll make Althea like me again, and she will. Once she likes me again, I’ll work on getting you to like me as well. That will be a bit trickier, though. I can’t blackmail you with ice-cream.”

 

As he had hoped, his comment made her smile, even though she tried to keep it in. He smiled at her and sneaked a kiss on her forehead before pulling back, winking at her.

 

She scowled, but he could see that she was in a much better mood now than when he had entered the room. Oh yes, he was still an excellent manipulator.

 

xxx

 

It was just past ten when Hermione went to open the door to let Tamsin in. She was surprised, however, when she saw Ginny standing next to the attorney. Her former friend looked worn out; her face was pale, and there were with dark circles under her eyes, but Hermione recognised the fire in her. Ginny was dead set on something, and whoever stood in her way would be sorry.

 

“Mrs Granger,” Tamsin said, making Hermione shift her focus to her instead, “may we come in?”

 

Hermione just nodded and stepped aside to let them both in. Right then, Voldemort came down the stairs. If he were surprised to see Ginny, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he merely made a gesture for them to follow him into their study.

 

“Mrs Potter would like to talk to you on her own,” Tamsin said. “I’ll be in the kitchen, helping myself to some coffee.”

 

“Be our guest,” Voldemort replied, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

 

Tamsin left, and Hermione put up a Silencing Ward around the room before sitting down as well. After a moment of hesitation, Ginny sat down opposite them.

 

It took several seconds before someone broke the silence.

 

“Well then,” Voldemort said, “what can we do for you, Mrs Potter?”

 

“Drop the act, Voldemort,” Ginny spat. “You may have been able to convince everyone else that Harry is insane, but I know my husband, and I know you, so don’t play that game with me.”

 

Hermione and Voldemort exchanged a look, and she could see that he didn’t mind dropping his sweet, Marcus persona. She nodded.

 

Voldemort turned to Ginny again, leaning back in the armchair. “To rephrase then; what do you want?”

 

“I want you to go to prison instead of Harry,” Ginny commented, her voice cold. “I want my family back together.”

 

“Is that so?” Voldemort asked, smiling.

 

Hermione frowned at her friend. Did Ginny really think it would be that easy?

 

“Of course it is,” Ginny replied and looked at Hermione. “With your testimony, he could go to prison, Hermione.”

 

Hermione sighed. She could see that her friend was just grasping for straws now, and she knew it. “And what good would that do, Ginny? There is no prison that could hold him for long. And ever since Kingsley banished the Dementors, there is no punishment that would stop him. He would break out, gather an army and try to take over Britain with force again. At least now, he doesn’t kill anyone.”

 

Ginny glared at Voldemort. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing that. Besides, once imprisoned, there are other ways to make him disappear forever. It doesn’t have to be legal.”

 

Voldemort chuckled. “Are you threatening me, Ginny?”

 

“Very much,” Ginny said in a low voice, her eyes narrowing. She was clearly desperate. Voldemort met her gaze, not appearing scared at all.

 

Hermione sighed, reached out and pinched her husband on the arm. He broke eye contact with Ginny. “What was that for?”

 

“Stop being silly,” Hermione ordered him. “You know we have to solve this somehow. Harry isn’t insane, and they’ll realise that in due time. He will be released and then he will just come back here again. I don’t want that. We are fixing this, now.”

 

“What do you suggest, then?” Voldemort asked, clearly not impressed by her tone of voice.

Hermione turned to Ginny again. “If we can get an oath from Harry that he’ll never hurt us again, we won’t hurt him, or you for that matter.”

 

Ginny studied her for a short moment. “Hermione, he is _Lord Voldemort_! Don’t you think his victims deserve justice? That _we_ deserve justice?”

 

Hermione looked at Voldemort and sighed. “Yes, they deserve justice. But life isn’t fair, Ginny, you know that. You don’t always get what you deserve. Besides, we have two girls upstairs who love their father. Do you want to destroy their lives for revenge?”

 

“You mean do exactly like what you two have done to my children?” Ginny asked. “You’ve got some nerve, Hermione.”

 

“Yes,” Hermione said, leaning forward. “You know me, Ginny. I love my children just as much as you love yours. What do you think I’ll do for revenge if you make them unhappy?”

 

She didn’t break eye contact with Ginny for several seconds. Hermione knew the younger woman was aware of what she could do when she was crossed. Even though Ginny would fight like a lioness to protect her loved ones, they both knew that Ginny was nowhere near as ruthless as Hermione was. They both remembered Umbridge.

 

“I would also take out my revenge, of course,” Voldemort suddenly added, sounding a bit sad to be left out of the threatening. “And if you think Her—”

 

“Shut up, Voldemort,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I think if it’s better if I handle this.”

 

“But—”

 

“No,” Hermione growled, her eyes narrowing at her husband.

 

Voldemort stared back, not impressed. However, for whatever reason, he fell back in his chair again, silent.

 

Hermione turned back to Ginny, only to see that the other woman’s expression had changed from angry to thoughtful.

 

“I’d very much like it if we could just stop this endless fighting,” Hermione said. “I know it’s what you really want. To just have your family together and in one piece. Voldemort stopped hunting after Harry a long time ago. Harry would be much better off if he could just put the past behind him.”

 

Ginny regarded her closely for a moment. “I’ll want an oath from your husband as well that he won’t come after us.”

 

“Sure,” Hermione replied.

 

“I will?” Voldemort objected. “What in Salazar’s name would make me swear that?”

 

“Because you cherish peace and quiet and want to make me happy,” Hermione said, looking at him pointedly.

 

Voldemort grimaced. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “I have no wish to kill Potter. I’ve no problem to give an oath not to harm him, unless in self-defence.”

 

“Good,” Hermione said and looked at Ginny. “Think you can talk some sense into your husband?”

 

Ginny looked from Hermione to Voldemort and back again. “Yes. Will you drop the charges against him if he gives you the oath?”

 

Hermione turned to Voldemort again, arching an eyebrow in question.

 

Voldemort shrugged. “I’m sure we can settle for some compensation to cover the damage. But included in that oath, I want Potter to swear never to tell anyone the truth about me.”

 

“I’ll speak to him,” Ginny said in a low voice. “I just want him to come home.”

 

Hermione fully understood Ginny and felt sorry for her. However, she had to put her own family first. At least her children. If there were any way to throw Voldemort under the bus without it affecting her children, Hermione would have considered it. Alas, there was none. So this would have to do instead.

 

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my merry band of readers! Once again, the chapter is a bit shorter than they have been lately, but we are nearing the end of this story. After this chapter, it’s just one more (long) chapter and the epilogue! I’m sorry the wait have been so long this semester, I’m taking my master’s degree soon, and I’ve been writing so much on my thesis, that I just haven’t had the energy to write on this as well. But now it’s almost over! I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, favourite-ing, and subscribing to this story, you always make my day!
> 
>  
> 
> I also want to thank Shan and Nerys for their hard work of betaing this!

 

**Chapter 46**

Hermione stretched out on the sun chair, trying to relax. She had a dreadful headache forming, and since they were going to spend the day on the beach, she might as well try to relax. The children were building a sand castle next to them. Voldemort was watching over them. All she had to do was close her eyes, enjoy the sun, and let the tension leave her body.

_Come on, tension, leave the body._

 

“Hermione?” Voldemort leaned over her, touching her arm.

 

She sighed. So much for getting relaxed. “What?”

 

“The girls want some ice cream; do you want some, too?”

 

“No, thanks,” she said, relieved that he didn’t want to say anything else.

 

“Very well, we’ll be right back.”

 

She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She tried to focus on nothing at all, and let the sound of the beach take over. Alas, no matter how hard she tried, it didn’t help her to relax and escape her problems at all. Even though things were still a mess with Voldemort, everything else was finally okay. Althea and Alexandra were safe; their secret would soon be safe again. She could get back to the work she loved. They still had secrets from Merlin’s vault to work with and discover. Life was good.

 

It was only this increasing need to beat Voldemort within an inch of his life that was the issue.

 

She groaned and opened her eyes again. If she couldn’t relax, she might as well do something useful. She reached into the bag they had packed and fished up one of the new books in Transfiguration that had come out almost four months before, but which she hadn’t had time to read yet. This was as good a time as any for catching up. The book wasn’t exactly groundbreaking, but it was written by a fellow scholar at Oxford, and she was expected to read it.

 

She only had time to read for a few minutes when her family came back.

 

“Mum, do you want to taste?” Alexandra came up to her, carrying a huge red ice cream on a stick.

 

Hermione smiled. “That’s okay, honey. I don’t feel like it at the moment.”

 

Alexandra shrugged and sat at the edge of her sun chair, eating her ice cream. Voldemort and Althea were sitting on the other one. Hermione lowered the book and looked at them. They were talking quietly to each other, each eating a chocolate-covered ice cream. How could Althea have got over what Voldemort did so quickly?

 

She looked back into her book again. Merlin, she couldn’t go on like this. She would have to do something, or else she would explode.

 

xxx

 

“Potter, you have a visitor.”

 

Harry looked up just as Ginny stepped into his cell. For a moment they just looked at each other; then Ginny flew into his arms, hugging him hard. Harry held her tightly. He had missed his wife so much. Not to mention their children.

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Harry said, his voice muffled by her hair.

 

Ginny continued to hold him for a few more seconds before finally letting go. “Let’s sit down.”

 

Harry sat down and noted by the expression on Ginny’s face that she wanted to discuss something serious. This couldn’t be good.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

Ginny took a deep breath. “I went to see them.”

 

Harry didn’t need clarification about who they were. He immediately jumped from his seat.

“What? Don’t you realise who he is? He is dangerous!”

 

“Sit down, Harry,” Ginny told him, her eyes narrowing.

 

“But Ginny—”

 

“Harry James Potter, sit down,” Ginny growled.

 

Harry did, but he wasn’t happy about it.

 

“I know exactly who he is,” Ginny said in a much lower voice. “That’s why I know that you are not going to be able to figure out a way to kill him. You have to stop.”

 

“But—”

 

“Look where you are!” Ginny exclaimed. “Your way isn’t working. All you have achieved is tearing our family apart. I have a new plan, and if you want your family back, you’ll follow through with it.”

 

Harry frowned. “What plan?”

 

She took a deep breath. “As I said, I went to talk to them. They are willing to leave us alone, if we leave them alone. He was even willing to take an oath, when Hermione told him to.”

 

It took him a moment to comprehend what Ginny was telling him. “He will leave us alone if we leave him alone? But we can’t do that! He’s still got Hermione!”

 

Ginny took his hand. “No, you aren’t listening to me. _They_ will leave us alone if we leave _them_ alone. Hermione isn’t his prisoner. She doesn’t need you to save her. But she will hurt you if you try to take the father of her children away from them.”

 

Had Ginny gone insane? “But he has her brainwashed—”

 

She pressed his hand harder. “No, Harry. Hermione is keeping him in check. I don’t know how much, but she has control over him. You should have seen them together. She told him to shut up, and he did. She smacked him, and he just sighed.”

 

Harry stared at his wife in disbelief. “But he’s Voldemort”

 

She nodded. “And she _is_ Hermione Granger. You know what she’s like. She isn’t some beaten down housewife. Don’t you remember how she used to boss you and Ron around? And Voldemort, for all his power and evilness, is still just a wizard.”

 

She paused and looked down at their connected hands. “After I went to see them, I had lunch and thought about what I had seen. Hermione has changed since she got together with him, but not completely. She’s still Hermione. Remember how we just last month talked about supporting her new proposal against the slavery of house-elves? Does that sound like something Voldemort would have signed up to? No. It’s all Hermione’s doing. And even more, ever since ‘Marcus Foster’ joined the Wizengamot, he has campaigned to improve the legal status of Muggle-borns. He didn’t have to do that. There are plenty of people who don’t, without anyone suspecting they are even Death Eaters. They just don’t talk about it. I think that’s Hermione’s doing.”

 

“But Voldemort will always be evil,” Harry said slowly.

 

“Yes, I know. But he doesn’t pose the same threat anymore. Ever since our wedding, there haven’t been any attacks in Voldemort’s name. You haven’t found anymore Muggle bodies. I’m not asking you to befriend him, just to let others take care of him instead. Let it go.”

 

“He killed my parents!” Harry exclaimed, hardly able to believe what Ginny was asking of him. _Let Voldemort go? This was madness!_

 

Ginny met his eyes again, and her gaze was hard. “I love you, Harry. But if you want to be with your family again, you’ll have to put us first. Voldemort has already managed to destroy your career and made people doubt your sanity. You can’t win against him. But others can. So you’ll have to let it go, or do you want him to destroy this family as well?”

 

“Of course not, but—”

 

Ginny let go of his hands and rose. “No buts. You can’t have both, Harry. Either you take their deal and make an oath not to go after them again, or we can’t be a family anymore. I know it’s hard, but think about it. What would you rather have? Revenge or a family?”

Before he had time to respond, she walked to the cell door and knocked on it. A guard came and let her out, leaving Harry alone with his own thoughts.

 

xxx

 

Hermione’s headache had grown worse by the time they came home from the beach in the evening. They had made it into a full day, even eating dinner at a small restaurant near the beach. It didn’t take much to get the girls into bed, for which Hermione was very grateful. She would just finish the book she had started on the beach, and then go to bed as well.

 

She curled up in her chair in the library and had started to read when Voldemort entered. He frowned when he saw her.

 

“It’s no wonder you got a headache when you are being so tense,” he said and came over to her. “Let me massage your shoulders.”

 

“No thank you,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “I just need to go to bed.”

 

He sighed, getting frustrated, and sat down on the chair next to hers. “I’m trying to make things better between us, Hermione. Why won’t you let me?”

 

“Because you tried to kill me,” she responded, massaging her own temple. She didn’t want to do this now.

 

“Tried, yes. But I didn’t, and it can only mean that I didn’t really want to do it, or it would have worked.”

 

Hermione scoffed. “Oh yes, because you are always so in control and never let your emotions get the better of you.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he said, frowning.

 

She grimaced. She hadn’t meant to say that. “Just leave me alone.”

 

“No, I won’t.” He took her book from her hands and put it on the table behind him. “You tried to kill me once, and that failed because you didn’t want it enough. This is the same thing.”

 

“No, it’s not!” Hermione exclaimed.

 

“Why not? If I had really wanted it, you would have been dead. I know I must have looked angry, but somewhere, I didn’t want it, or else—”

 

“No!” Hermione screamed and flew up from the chair. This was just all too much. “If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed me! You wanted to kill me; you were just stopped.”

 

Just as she realised what she had said, her hand flew up to her mouth. _Oh, fuck_.

 

Voldemort had gone very still. For a moment, they just stared at each other, she in alarm, he in cold calculation. Then, slowly, he rose.

 

“Bedroom. Now,” he growled and grabbed her hand.

 

Hermione followed. Yes, that was a reasonable plan. No use waking up the girls. Those silencing charms were really effective.

 

When the door closed behind her, Voldemort dropped her hand and spun around to face her.

 

“You think you stopped me?” he asked. “You actually think that _you_ can stop _me_ , Lord Voldemort?”

 

She felt her anger boil. “Are you underestimating me again? Yes, you are Lord Voldemort. Do you honestly think I haven’t come up with countless of plans to stop you if you tried to hurt any of us? Do you really think I’d leave the safety of my children up to whether or not you can control your temper? I’ve been planning for this for years!”

 

“What, exactly, do you think you have done to me?” he spat.

 

He didn’t want to believe she could do anything. That made Hermione furious. “Try to curse me and I’ll show you.”

 

She could see his wand hand twitch, but he didn’t reach for it. “And give you another reason to be mad at me?”

 

She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “So you won’t dare to test me?”

 

Swiftly, he brought his wand up, just as Hermione knew he would. She was ready. He made an attempt to cast a spell, but she blocked his magic. All it took was willpower. It felt as if she was pulling a thread in her mind, which closed his access to his magic.

 

For a moment, he stared at his wand in shock. Then his eyes went up to her. “What have you done?”

 

She could hear the fear in his voice and managed to throw up a shield before he threw himself at her. He smashed right into the shield and fell back on the floor. He quickly got back on his feet again. She had never seen her husband look so angry and scared before. He looked completely wild.

 

He smashed into the wall again, and she sent him flying across the room. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this. There was only one thing she could do.

With a flick of her wand, she knocked him unconscious before he had time to rise again. She stood there for a moment, staring at her husband’s body. Well, that had gone worse than expected. She had known he would be angry if he found out, but this? How should she handle this?

 

Well, there were only one way this could work. She repaired the bed, which had once again broken by the mere influence of magic (they so needed to buy a new one). Sighing, she looked down at her husband’s prone body, before moving him to the bed. She took his wand and bound his hands magically. On second thought, she removed his clothes as well. He was always easier to handle when he was naked. She took off her own clothes and sat down next to him on the bed.

 

Even unconscious, he looked angry. His face was set in a frown, and his shoulders were tense. She stroked his chest with her hand.

 

“Merlin, you always have to make it so hard, don’t you?” she said with a sigh.

 

She let her hand travel lower, over his belly and down to his groin. There was only one way to stop Voldemort when he was this scared. Well, two ways, but since she didn’t want anyone to die tonight, she would have to do the other.

 

With her special touch, it didn’t take more than a minute to have him standing to attention. She looked longingly at his hard cock. It had been too long since they had last had sex. She craved sex, too, although she had managed to keep herself under control so far. It had been hard last night, but she had been angry enough to stand against their bond.

 

Now, however, it wasn’t hard for her to get wet enough to do this. She wanted Voldemort to calm down after all.

 

She straddled him, and just before she guided his cock inside her, she woke him up. His eyes flew open just as she sank down on him, and he let out something between a groan and a hiss.

 

“What are you doing?” he spat and tried to reach her, but his hands were tied down to his sides.

 

She exhaled, shuddering with pleasure of having him inside her again. “You were getting out of control. I decided to do this to calm you down.”

 

Voldemort groaned. “You did something to me … but it’s not possible.”

 

Slowly, she began rocking back and forth. “I know it’s hard for you to realise that someone has control over you, but I have to be able to stop you if you lose control over your temper like you did the other night. You would have killed me if I hadn’t.”

 

“I don’t want you to die, kitten,” Voldemort said, holding her gaze. “But I can’t accept that you could be able to do something like that to me.”

 

“But don’t you see? If you don’t want me to die, then you can’t blame me for stopping you. I would have died, Voldemort. Do you honestly want me to believe you haven’t killed out of anger before?”

 

He was silent. She moved her fingers into his hair and stroked his head as she continued to move her hips.

 

“This is a good thing for this family, Voldemort,” she finally said. “And if you ever want me to get over that you tried to kill me, you’ll accept what I can do. I have known how to do this for years, and I haven’t used it before that night.”

 

He continued to look her in the eyes, and for several minutes, all that was heard was her body moving over his.

 

“Release me,” he finally said.

 

Hermione hesitated, looking into his eyes, trying to figure out what he was planning. He was still angry, she could feel it. But he wasn’t so furious that he was out of his mind. Well, she would have to release him sooner or later. At least she knew he wouldn’t be inclined to do anything else, until they had finished this.

 

“Fine,” she said and waved her wand over him, releasing his arms.

 

Voldemort pulled her chest down against him and rolled them over, so he was on top instead. He stopped there, just bending his neck so he could see her. His eyes were cold, calculating.

 

“I can’t allow this,” he finally said.

 

Hermione sighed. “It’s not for you to allow. This is how it will be. I can’t trust you not to hurt us, but I will stop you if you try. So you’ll have to trust me when I say that I won’t use this unless our family is in danger.”

 

His eyes narrowed.

 

She stroked his arm. “I know you trust me, Voldemort. You can trust me. After everything you have done to me, I’m still here, aren’t I? Trust me with this.”

 

Her heart was speeding up as she watched him, anxious. This was the point of no return. She couldn’t yield, not when it came to the safety of herself and her children. He would have to, or else their family would implode. He recognised that as well, or else he wouldn’t be so quiet. So now it was time to see what was most important for Lord Voldemort, his family or his need for control.

 

They stared at each other. His dark-blue eyes seemed to want to drill a hole through her head. She couldn’t blink, even if she had wanted to. Even though he wasn’t performing Legilimency, she knew he could see her thoughts. She was thinking it so loud.

_Don’t be a prick._

 

Finally, he let out a roar and broke eye contact. He started to thrust into her, hard and fast, gripping her wrists and nailing them to the mattress with his hands. Hermione closed her eyes and smiled, letting him take out his frustration on her. She didn’t mind it when he did it this way, hitting her g-spot repeatedly. He had yielded.

 

As if he had heard her thoughts, he stopped and grabbed her chin. She opened her eyes again.

 

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Whatever happens, you’ll always be mine. You and the girls. This changes nothing.”

 

Hermione moved her now free hand up to his head and forced him down for a kiss. He was wrong, of course. This changed everything.

 

xxx

 

Voldemort continued to hold Hermione tightly after their furious fucking. He didn’t care that he was hot and sweaty, he had to know that he had her. He had to know that he could break her neck at any moment, if he wished it. Magic wasn’t everything. She might have figured out a way to stop him by using his magic, _for now_ , but he was still the one in power. He was physically stronger than she was. That was enough.

 

It wasn’t like she could control him. She could just stop him. It was nothing more than an effective ward, temporarily blocking his magic. It wasn’t a big deal that she had a stronger shield. There were plenty of other ways to get to her if he wanted to. This was no different than the oath he had taken all those years ago, swearing not to magically torture her. It was just a big deal for her.

 

Well, let it be. If she felt safer, then he could allow that. If it brought her back to his bed, well, so much better. He was still in control, just not the same way he was used to. And it was only for now as well. He was Lord Voldemort; he would find a way to break her control. He was the most powerful of them.

 

Hermione was embracing him, slowly stroking his back. He found it strange. Did she think he needed comfort? He didn’t. This was not something to be comforted over. If anything, she was the one who needed comfort. But perhaps agreeing was enough for her. Not that it was a big thing to agree to her new ability. It would just be useless to lose her over something as silly as a more effective shield. In fact, it was quite a cheap price to pay for almost killing her. He had got a lot more out of it when she had tried to kill him.

 

He took a deep breath and finally let go of her. Hermione slowly rolled away.

 

“I need to go to the loo,” she said and got out of bed.

 

“Fine,” he replied and pulled down the blankets so he could get under the covers. Without her, it was starting to get cold.

 

Just a few minutes later, she came back to bed and crawled under the covers as well.

 

“We should get a new real bed tomorrow,” she commented.

 

“And some other new furniture for the bedroom and the kitchen,” he added.

 

“Well, the girls seemed happy to get out of the house. We can go shopping in London tomorrow,” Hermione suggested.

 

“Yes, I think they will like that.”

 

A somewhat tense silence fell over the bed. Voldemort stared up at the ceiling. Neither of them wanted to address what had just happened between them. He refused to let it be a big deal. Hermione probably wanted to blow it up even more, though, and then things would get annoying again.

 

Well, there was always that other thing he could do when he didn’t want his wife to over analyse things and be more obedient.

 

He moved closer to her and leaned down to kiss her. Hermione answered his kiss with her mouth open, inviting him in.

 

“What was that for?” she asked when he finally pulled away.

 

“Well, we have a few nights to make up for now. I was thinking we could start right away,” he purred.

 

And they resolved into yet another sex-act. After all, it was the only way they could deal with each other.

 

 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can’t believe I actually managed to find time to update. But here it is: the last chapter before the epilogue. And I finished the epilogue last night, so I hope it will up soon as well! Then it will be over. Done. Finito. No more Shared Flame for Miya.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, favourite-ing, and subscribing to this story, you always make my day!
> 
>  
> 
> I also want to thank Shan and Nerys for their hard work of betaing this! Cookies for you!

 

**Chapter 47**

 

To say that everything was back to normal in the Granger-Foster household was stretching it. But at least Hermione and Voldemort were having sex again and could thus effectively work out their issues with each other physically.

 

However, they both decided that it was best to get everything back to normal as soon as possible. Therefore, a week after their visit to the beach, they sent Alexandra back to school. She seemed quite happy to see her friends again. Hermione started working again, but only part time. Voldemort stayed at home with Althea until they decided what would the best action for her. Voldemort didn’t want to go back to work until he had fixed his body issues.

At noon, the day after Alexandra returned to school, Hermione came home to eat lunch with Voldemort and Althea. Hermione and Voldemort were talking about work when Althea finally broke in.

 

“Mum. I think I’m ready to go to Hogwarts now.”

 

Hermione was startled by her statement. “Are you sure? After everything that’s happened … no one will be surprised if you wait.”

 

Althea hesitated and looked at her father. “Dad and I talked about it earlier. I’m … I think I’m ready. I want to learn magic the normal way, like I’ve read about in the books. And Dad told me about Slytherin, and how I’m related to him. It would be cool to go to a school my ancestor built.”

 

Hermione looked at Voldemort with a frown. Had Voldemort convinced Althea to go just so he would be able to research on his own?

 

“I told her she could take her time as well,” Voldemort said sincerely. “But the decision is up to her.”

 

Althea nodded. “I’d like to try at least.”

 

Well, if Althea felt ready, then she probably was. Otherwise, Hogwarts was just an Apparition away. Hermione didn’t want to talk Althea out of it, no matter if Voldemort had put her up to this or not.

 

“I’ll owl Professor McGonagall right away and ask if we can visit,” Hermione said slowly. “If everything feels okay with being there, then I’m sure you can get started soon.”

 

Althea smiled, but Hermione could see she was nervous as well. That was to be expected, of course. Hermione had been nervous when she first went to Hogwarts. Still, it felt stranger to be the parent sending their child off to Hogwarts than it was being a child going to Hogwarts. Hermione had felt the heartache when she had left Althea at the Hogwarts Express, but now, it was even worse. What if something bad happened again?

 

“Do you think I’ll get sorted?” Althea asked eagerly.

 

Hermione smiled weakly. “We’ll see, love.”

 

Voldemort cleared his throat. “I’ll help you compose the letter, Hermione. Why don’t we go to the study? Althea, are you finished with your lunch?”

 

 

Althea nodded. “Thanks for lunch.”

 

Voldemort waved her off and then cleared the table with a quick spell. Silently, he led Hermione into the study.

 

“You have to let her go, Hermione,” he said once the door was closed.

 

“I know that,” Hermione said, annoyed. “But what if something happens again?”

 

“Well, I highly doubt two separate groups will want to kidnap her, but just in case, I’m putting a tracking spell on her. But, in the unlikely event that someone would kidnap her … well, we took care of them last time, didn’t we?”

 

“It’s not just kidnapping I’m afraid of,” Hermione growled. “Hogwarts can be dangerous. And what if she doesn’t make any friends? Most children will already have established their groups by now, what if there is no room for her? What if they bully her?”

 

Voldemort sighed and grasped her hands. “Althea is a strong girl, Hermione, just like us. All parents worry that their children won’t have any friends, but what can we do if she doesn’t? We can’t force children to like each other. And as to bullying… well, do you really think I’d let my daughter get bullied?”

 

Hermione frowned at him. “You aren’t going to torture children, are you?”

 

He chuckled. “No, that would be rather suspicious. But I’ve taught both our daughters personally. Not anything dark, you know that, but enough that they’ll be able to defend themselves, if needed. She is clever, Hermione, she’ll figure it out.”

 

She sighed. “It’s still dangerous at Hogwarts.”

 

He snorted again. “Not really. The only reason you were in danger at Hogwarts was because of Potter, and well, me. But it’s not like I’m going after anyone at Hogwarts right now, and I’ll make sure no other Dark Wizard gets interested in Althea, or her friends. And I know you’ll help me with that.”

 

He pulled her into an embrace. “If worse comes to worse, we’ll be there and save her. She is not alone. Not like you were.”

 

Hermione stood stiffly in his arms for a moment, then she exhaled and started to relax. “We better write that letter then.”

 

xxx

 

Althea was nervous as she and her mother made their way up to Hogwarts early in the morning. Headmistress McGonagall had agreed to meet with them and discuss Althea’s options.

 

Althea wasn’t sure what to think about the huge castle that lay in front of her. In one way, it was very cool, and she could hardly believe she was related to one of the people who had built it. On the other hand, coming here meant having no friends at all. Not even her sister or parents. Instead, just Potter and Lupin would be there.

 

It wasn’t that she was scared of them. No, they were too silly to scare her. But they were so annoying and always ruining everything that she simply didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

 

Still. She wanted to learn. She hadn’t told her parents about it, but she was eager to explore the magic the fairies had taught her more. Her father had told her she should forget everything they had tried to teach her, because it had all been bogus, but Althea didn’t think so. They had taught her things. At Hogwarts, she would be free to practise whatever she wished. She would be great in magic, she knew it.

 

“Professor McGonagall isn’t expecting us until nine, Althea. Why don’t I show you around a bit?” Hermione suggested as they entered the school.

 

The first thing Althea noticed was the students. Students in black robes were everywhere, walking in different directions. Some of them glanced curiously at them as they passed, but none said a word.

 

Althea stayed close to her mother as they walked up a big staircase. There was a lot to look at in the castle. The walls were filled with moving paintings in bright colours, and statues and ornaments seemed to be placed in no particular order. When one of the stairs began to move as they walked, Althea let out a gasp.

 

“Oh, I guess the castle wants us to look at the library first,” Hermione mused out loud. “It’s this way.”

 

Althea felt braver at the thought of the library. She had been looking forward to see the Hogwarts Library since she learned how to read.

 

The sight of it was better than she had thought.

 

Althea had been to libraries in the Muggle world lots of times. She knew what it looked like to have lots of book in one big room. But none of the libraries she had been to before had ever gave her the same feeling as this one. It wasn’t just that it was filled with more books than she would be able to read in her whole lifetime, but it was the feeling of the library. It was magical.

 

She inhaled the old, musty magic of the books, and her whole body trembled with excitement. It reminded her about how it had been where the fairies lived. So filled with magic and wisdom. She could make a home here.

 

“Dear Merlin, Hermione Granger!” An elderly witch with a very strict expression came up to them, her lips almost smiling.

 

“Madam Pince, how nice to see you again,” Hermione said, sounding quite surprised for some reason.

 

Althea didn’t care about the adults. She wanted to have a look at some of the books.

 

Certain that her mother would call her back when it was time, Althea made her way down the lines of bookshelves and chose one shelf at random. The books there seemed to be about something cool. She browsed a shelf and was just about to pick out a book when someone came into the same passage she was in. She looked up, expecting to see some unfamiliar student, but froze when she recognised Lupin.

 

They stared at each other for several seconds. Then Lupin’s face broke into a smile.

 

It wasn’t the same smug, mean smile he usually wore when she was around. No, this was a smile of relief and genuine happiness.

 

“Glad to see you’re alright, Granger, you had us all worried, getting kidnapped from the train like that,” he said, to her great surprise. “Starting Hogwarts now?”

 

“I guess,” she said, on her guard.

 

“Hope I’ll see you around then,” Lupin said. Then he turned around and left.

 

Althea stared after him. Had that really been Lupin? He hadn’t insulted her once. Why was he being nice? Well, it would be easier to ignore him if he didn’t try to hex her every time she walked past him. She was not about to let her guard down though, but maybe, just maybe, it was possible that the students at Hogwarts wouldn’t be as mean as she had thought.

 

“Althea?” her mother called.

 

Althea looked at the shelf again and sighed. Well, if she came to Hogwarts for real, she’d be able to read all these interesting-looking books whenever she wanted.

 

She walked towards her mother again, and they left the library. Her mother showed her some other locations she had liked when she was a student, but it was a bit too much for Althea to take in all at once. It didn’t take long until she had no idea where they were, or how they had come there.

 

“You’ll find your way around here in no time, if you start,” Hermione promised her when she saw her daughter’s confused look. “There are even some secret passages to discover, which will get you around even faster.”

 

Althea lit up at that. She loved secrets.

 

They came to the big stone bird at the end of a long corridor. To Althea’s surprise, Hermione stopped in front of it and said,

 

“Norwegian Forest Cat.”

 

Before Althea had a chance to ask what was going on, the bird started to go upwards, revealing a staircase. Althea gasped. Despite all the magic she had seen in her years, she still found it cool when things that weren’t supposed to happen, happened. Like stone birds revealing a staircase.

 

“How did that happen?” she asked her mother.

 

“Some rooms in Hogwarts have passwords. McGonagall told me hers in the letter she sent us,” Hermione explained.

 

Once they were up, they were allowed entrance into a circular room with big great windows. An elderly witch rose from behind a big oak desk, smiling at them.

 

“Hermione, I’m so glad to see you again, especially in the company of your daughter.” The witch came around the desk and hugged Hermione before turning to Althea. “We were all so happy to hear that you were found safe and sound, Miss Granger-Foster. Even happier when we heard they caught the perpetrators.”

 

Althea just twisted uncomfortably. Her parents had told her not to say anything to anyone about where she had really been, or whom she had been taken by. Yet, it felt strange every time someone looked at her like the way Professor McGonagall was looking at her now. Like she had been through something terrible. It hadn’t been terrible, not until the end at least when she found out who her father really was, and her friends were banished from the world.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, we told Althea that she could tell us when she felt ready to start Hogwarts, and now she asked. So we were just wondering if it will work for her to start now, even though the semester has already started?”

 

McGonagall made a gesture for them to take a seat on the two blue armchairs in front of the desk. “It is highly unusual for a student to start later, but during special circumstances, we do allow it. This is what we would call a special circumstance. However, Miss Granger-Foster would have to study harder than the rest to start with, so she can catch up with the other students.”

 

Hermione smiled and looked at Althea. “I doubt that will be much of a problem. Marcus and I have already taught her some of the basics of magic.”

 

McGonagall smiled as well. “I expected as much. Well, then, Miss Granger-Foster, do you want to join us at Hogwarts?”

 

Althea looked at the Headmistress and nodded. “Yes, please.”

 

“Then it’s decided,” McGonagall said. “However, there is some administration to take care of before you can begin officially. But I think I’ll be able to have it done by the end of the week.”

 

McGonagall paused, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you return here on Sunday evening and we’ll get you Sorted. Please bring Mr Foster as well. Both of you will have to sign some papers. You can bring your other daughter as well, if she likes to. In the meantime, I think I’ll give you some homework, Miss Granger-Foster. Just so your teachers will be able to see how far along you are.”

 

“That sounds very reasonable, Professor,” Hermione said, looking relieved. “I’m sure Marcus will be happy coming here. He has never seen Hogwarts, after all.”

 

Puzzled, Althea glanced at her mother before she realised that she was lying. No one else knew who her father was. All of a sudden, Althea realised that she would have to lie as well, if someone asked her about her father. Her parents had just told her not to tell anything to anyone, but people would probably ask questions. Althea would have to lie.

 

That didn’t bother her so much. Secrets were fun, after all. This was just another one.

 

xxx

 

Hermione and Voldemort had agreed to meet the Potters in a place where no children would be present, and a place that was secluded. Thus, they met in a club cabin currently rented by Ginny’s Quidditch team. It was located near a Quidditch pitch and thus away from the cities and already protected from Muggles. Ginny had also promised that no one would bother to come by on a Thursday morning, so there would be no interruptions.

 

Voldemort spotted the other couple the moment he entered the cabin. The Potters were sitting on a wooden bench with a huge dinner table in front of them. He smirked at them, which Hermione happened to see, which led to her elbowing him in the side.

 

His fierce, little wife went up to the table and sat down at the opposite side of the Potters. Voldemort joined her.

 

For a moment, Voldemort and Harry stared at each other in silence. As always, the boy’s emotions were visible all over his face. Harry was very angry and unhappy about being there. However, he must have learned some self-control since he wasn’t attacking Voldemort right away. Good for him.

 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Hermione finally said.

 

Harry broke eye contact with Voldemort, and his expression turned pained as he looked at Hermione.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want, Hermione?” he asked. “If we work together, we can—”

 

“Don’t,” Hermione broke in coldly. “If you for even a moment think I’ll ruin my children’s lives like that, you don’t know me at all, Harry.”

 

“But what about your life?” Harry asked, sounding pathetic. “There must be some way—”

 

“I’ve come to terms with this, Harry, so must you,” Hermione interrupted him again. “I know you want to save everyone, but I don’t need saving. Accept that.”

 

“You deserve a happy life,” Harry whispered. “A happy ending.”

Hermione sighed. “There are no happy endings in real life. But for what it’s worth, I am happy.” She glanced at Voldemort. “Sometimes.”

 

“Yes, she is very happy every night when we have sex,” Voldemort added helpfully. “And in the mornings as well.”

 

Hermione elbowed him again. Both Harry and Ginny looked away, clearly not wanting to think about Voldemort’s sexuality. Hermione also wondered if Harry was perhaps thinking about the time where he had seen Voldemort in action with her. Had he told Ginny about that? The thought made Hermione feel uncomfortable as well.

 

“If that’s settled, then let’s move on,” Hermione said, sending a glare of warning to Voldemort. “We decided that an Unbreakable Vow would do. I’ll be the binder, and both of you will take it, promising not to reveal Marcus’s true identity or go after him in any way. Voldemort will promise not to go after you. However, we’ll word it so it leaves room for self-defence, even though it won’t be necessary since neither of you will be able to hurt each other.”

 

“So that’s it?” Ginny asked. “We will leave each other alone, and never see each other again?”

 

Hermione nodded. “That’s it.”

 

“But that means we’ll never see you either!” Harry exclaimed.

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “You tried to murder my husband, Harry. I don’t want to see you again.”

 

Harry looked shocked. Then he turned to Voldemort, his face turning angry. “I bet this makes you happy?”

 

“A bit, yes,” Voldemort mused, looking very pleased.

 

“Enough,” Hermione said, rising from the table. “Let’s just do this and be on our way. I have a class to teach in an hour.”

 

They all rose, and oaths were taken without further arguing, much to Hermione’s relief. A part of her was sad to lose her oldest friends, but truth be told, they hadn’t been that great friends since the war ended, and especially not since Harry found out who Voldemort really was. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have other friends. She did have colleagues she saw outside of work, so it wasn’t like she only had Voldemort to talk to. True, they weren’t as close as real friends usually were, but it was still nice to have some other adult to talk to, beside Voldemort.

 

She wasn’t unhappy. She just wasn’t very happy either.

 

Once the oaths were taken, they left, going their separate ways without saying goodbye. When Hermione and Voldemort landed in the kitchen, Voldemort embraced her.

 

“I’ll do my utmost to make you happy again, kitten,” he mumbled.

 

Hermione sighed. She knew he was telling the truth. Even though he no doubt had selfish reasons for wanting her to be happy, he still worked to make her happy. Thanks to his excellent observation skills, he was even good at figuring out what would make her happy, even though she didn’t realise it herself.

 

“If I didn’t have to go to work, I think I’d actually want a drink,” Hermione muttered, moving out from his embrace.

 

Voldemort chuckled. “Tell you what, once Althea is at Hogwarts, why don’t we get a babysitter for Alexandra one night and go out and get you utterly pissed?”

 

She snorted. “I didn’t think you wanted me to get drunk again?”

 

“Under my supervision, you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you don’t start snogging other men, or get pregnant again.”

 

She laughed, and smacked his arm. “It’s a deal. Now I have to get ready for work.”

 

He pulled her in and kissed her thoroughly. Hermione let him. It was nice to kiss him after all. At the end of the day, he did have his uses, Lord Voldemort.

 

xxx

 

Althea was nervous when she woke up on Sunday morning. Today was the day she was going to Hogwarts! The day had finally come!

 

All the homework she had got from Hogwarts was already done. There hadn’t been too much, just a handful of questions in every subject, which she had been able to answer without problem. Her parents had taught her the basics ages ago. She was looking forward to learn the real things.

 

Quickly, she got dressed and hurried downstairs. Her father was already sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and reading the Daily Prophet. He smiled when she entered.

 

“Good morning. Looking forward to go to Hogwarts?” he asked.

 

“Yes, where’s Mum?” Even though she had stopped fighting her father and to some extent accepted who he was, she still felt a bit uncomfortable being around him. It would be a relief to get away from him for a while, so she could gather her thoughts in peace. It was just her mother and Alexandra she would actually miss.

 

“She was still asleep when I woke up,” Voldemort answered. “We were up researching late.”

 

“Okay,” Althea said, knowing he was probably lying. Oh, they had been in the library reading when she got to bed, but she doubted it was the only reason they were up late. She was eleven, not stupid.

 

“Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” he asked politely. “Since it’s your last day at home, I can make you something really special, if you’d like?”

 

It annoyed her when her father was trying too hard. She knew he wasn’t a nice man now, why did he try to act like it?

 

However, she was in the mood for chocolate pancakes. Her mother would never let her have it for breakfast since she thought it was too sweet, but maybe her father would now?

 

“Maybe,” Althea said slowly. “Could I have some chocolate pancakes?”

 

Voldemort chuckled and rose. “Well, it’s safe to say you’re my daughter at least. But fine, I’ll make you some chocolate pancakes.”

 

Althea wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it didn’t matter. She would get her pancakes!

 

For the rest of the day, Althea was shifting from being excited and happy to nervous and homesick. She ran through the entire house, checking to see that she hadn’t forgotten anything several times. There were some things she didn’t know if she should bring. Would people laugh if she brought her old friend Koka, the flying snake teddy? It wasn’t that she still slept with Koka, but it didn’t feel right to leave him either.

 

In the end, she stuck him underneath all her clothes. If anyone asked, she could just say her mother hid him there.

 

At five o’clock, the whole family gathered to take a Portkey to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall had supplied it. It would take them straight to the Head’s office.

                                                     

By that time, Althea was more nervous than anything, so Alexandra was the one standing for the excitement. She was almost bouncing up and down where they stood with their hands on the old brown hat.

 

“When will it happen?” Alexandra asked.

 

“Just a few more seconds, honey,” Hermione said, smiling.

 

“Can’t it happen faster?”

 

“It will happen—” Her mother’s voice was broken off by the Portkey activating, sending the whole family into something that felt like a storm of magic.

 

Althea gasped in surprise when she found herself landing on her stomach. She blinked and stared into a thick red curtain. A moment later, he father helped her up and she recognised the Head’s office.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” The voice came from the painting hanging right next to the red curtain. Althea stared at it, not used to have portraits addressing her.

 

She could see other portraits on the wall; wizards and witches dressed in their finest robes, all sitting in high-backed chairs. They were all appearing to sleep, except the one right next to the painting that had addressed her. The greasy-haired wizard inside it had one eye open and muttered, “You should be asleep as well, Albus.”

 

“Nonsense, Severus, rules are to be diverted from, especially in special circumstances,” Dumbledore responded cheerfully. “You should welcome them, too.”

 

The other portrait, Severus, looked down his long hooked nose at Dumbledore, and then muttered something unrecognisable before crossing his arms and closing his eyes again.

 

“Oh well. Miss Granger-Foster, welcome to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said.

 

“Thank you,” Voldemort answered in her place. “You must be Professor Dumbledore?”

 

The old, white-bearded wizard in the portrait smiled at them. “Indeed I am, Professor Foster. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

 

“Not as much as I’ve heard about you,” Voldemort said with a smile. “I’m sorry our ways never crossed when you were alive. I think we would have had quite a bit to talk about.”

 

“Dad, who is that?” Alexandra—who had landed right next to Althea—got in between Althea and Voldemort and tugged at his sleeve.

 

“This is Professor Dumbledore, who was the Headmaster of Hogwarts before Professor McGonagall,” Voldemort explained.

 

Right then, Althea noticed that Professor McGonagall was also in the room, already welcoming Hermione. Althea had been too caught up with watching the talking painting. Even though she had seen them before, it felt strange to _talk_ to one.

 

“Why is he inside a painting, Dad?” Alexandra asked in a whisper.

 

“It’s customary for Headmasters of Hogwarts to leave behind a painting of themselves when they retire from their post,” Dumbledore explained to Alexandra with a friendly twinkle in his eye.

 

“Althea? Marcus?” Hermione called them.

 

Althea saw Voldemort smile at the portrait before guiding his daughters to the other side of the room. McGonagall had put more armchairs by the fireplace, and a coffee table had been set for tea. Althea sat down next to her mother.

 

“There is usually a welcome feast for the new students,” McGonagall explained. “Therefore, I thought we could have a small celebration with your family, once we have you Sorted.”

 

“That’s very kind, Professor. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Hermione said softly.

 

“Nonsense, I want all students to feel equally welcomed. Once we know which House Miss Granger-Foster will be in, I’ll call for the Head of House to join us as well.”

 

Althea didn’t know what to say. All she felt was excitement. She would finally get Sorted!

 

McGonagall took down a very old, worn, black wizard’s hat from a shelf next to her desk. “This is the Sorting Hat. It will decide which House you’ll be in. All you have to do is listen to it and relax.”

 

Althea knew what was to be expected. She had asked her mother for the details several times. But she could still feel her palms getting sweaty when McGonagall lowered the Hat onto her head. What if the Hat wouldn’t work?

 

“Interesting,” a soft voice whispered into her ear. “Your mind is guarded. Family secrets, I don’t doubt? Yes, children have them now and again. Your father must be of the paranoid sort. I remember your mother, she is well aware of my vow of silence.”

 

“How can you see my mind is guarded?” Althea thought to the Hat. She knew she didn’t have to talk.

 

“I’ve been around for hundreds of years, Miss Foster-Granger; I have seen every type of mind there is and felt every thought there is to think. But you have quite a few unique ones. You are very young to know so much, and very ambitious. You want to know everything, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Althea thought.

 

“It’s hard to decide. Your love of learning would put you in Ravenclaw, but you have other qualities that would make you fit into Slytherin.”

 

“Mum was a Gryffindor,” Althea remembered. “She wanted me to be one, too.”

 

“But you don’t want to be in Gryffindor,” the Hat noted. “I can see it here. You don’t like the people there.”

 

“No,” Althea agreed.

 

“But you do want to have friends. Slytherins make excellent friends. But Ravenclaw would provide a great environment for learning. Which do you think you crave the most, Miss Foster-Granger?”

 

Althea thought about it. She would like to have new friends, but there were no guarantees that the Slytherins would be any better than any other children she had met. And could she trust them? Lately, everyone she thought she could trust had turned out to be someone else. No, she would rather be in an environment where she could develop her own magic in peace.

 

The Hat sighed into her ear. “You have made up your mind. Very well, it will be RAVENCLAW!”

 

The last word was shouted out into the room. Someone pulled the hat from her head, and she discovered that her family and the portraits on the walls were all applauding her. They all looked genuinely happy for her. It made her happy as well.

 

A short wizard named Professor Flitwick came up to join their feast, and Althea got to hear a lot about Ravenclaw and its history.

 

“I’ve no doubt you’ll make us proud, Miss Granger-Foster,” Professor Flitwick said has he served himself some more tea with a swish of his wand. “If you are anything like your mother, you’ll be an excellent student.”

 

“Oh, Althea must take after both of us, because she is better than I was at her age,” Hermione said, taking her daughter’s hand. “She managed to finish all her homework in just three days.”

 

“Very good, very good,” Flitwick chuckled. “I’m sure she will have caught up to her classmates in no time.”

 

“How many first year students are there in Ravenclaw this year?” Hermione asked.

 

Althea became curious again. She knew she would have to share a room with the other Ravenclaw girls, and she’d rather that there weren’t too many of them.

 

“Seven, or eight now with Miss Granger-Foster,” Flitwick told them. “Four boys, four girls. Do you remember Alicia Spinnet? She married Roger Davies, and their son got Sorted into Ravenclaw this year.”

 

“Oh, how nice. I don’t think I’ve seen Alicia since she left Hogwarts.”

 

Althea was once again lost in her own thoughts as her mother talked with the Professor. Three girls to share a bedroom with. She hoped none of them snored. But her father had taught her a silencing spell if she needed it. He had also taught her a locking spell, so no one would be able to go through her things.

 

Before she knew it, it was time for her parents and sister to leave.

 

“You can write home any time you like,” Hermione said, hugging her tightly. “If you need anything, just let us know. We love you.”

 

Alexandra hugged her as well, and then it was time for her father. Althea tensed slightly as he embraced her, but she allowed it.

 

“Take care, love,” he said. “Learn a lot.”

 

“I will,” Althea mumbled.

 

There were a lot of mixed emotions running through her as her family took a Portkey and disappeared from the Office. She tried not to think about what she was feeling, instead she focused on the two Professors. Flitwick smiled at her.

 

“Why don’t I show you down to the Ravenclaw common room, and we’ll get you introduced for the other students,” he said, making a gesture for her to join him. “Thank you for the tea, Minerva.”

 

“Thank you,” Althea said, her voice coming out a lot weaker than she had intended.

 

She didn’t want to be scared at the prospect of meeting her new classmates, but for some reason, she just couldn’t get her heart to stop racing in her chest. She hardly saw where they went, and only answered when Flitwick asked her a question. She didn’t think she had ever missed her mother this much.

 

They came to a door with no handle or door knob. Instead, there was a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

 

“We don’t have a password to our common room like the other Houses,” Flitwick explained to her. “If you want to enter, the Eagle will ask you a question and you’ll have to answer it in an insightful way to gain entrance. We want our students to always challenge their minds, and this is the way to do it. Go ahead, why don’t you give it a try?”

 

He nodded at the Eagle who looked down at Althea. “How can a person stay awake for eight days?”

 

Althea frowned. “Don’t they sleep at night instead?”

 

“Indeed they do,” the Eagle answered.

 

The door swung open, and they stepped through. Althea gasped when she saw the common room. It was big and airy, decorated in dark-blue and bronze, with lots of bookcases and tables and armchairs to sit and study in. It was half filled with students who all looked up when they saw Professor Flitwick.

 

“Good evening, students, good evening,” Flitwick greeted them. “We have a new first year student joining us, Miss Althea Granger-Foster. I hope you’ll make her feel welcome.”

 

Althea stared at the other students. None of them looked particular excited, but if they were expressing any emotion at all, it was curiosity. Well, that was something at least.

 

“Miss Abram, would you be so kind and help Miss Granger-Foster to get settled?”

 

A girl who looked to be in her mid-teens got up from her group of friends, on Flitwick’s request. She smiled at them, and not a fake smile either. It made Althea feel more at ease.

 

“Miss Abrams is one of the Prefects of Ravenclaw. If you have any questions, you are free to ask her, or any of the other Prefects. And my door is always open as well, if you have anything you’d like to talk about,” Flitwick said. “I’ll see you in class.”

 

Althea nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

 

Once he had left, Miss Abrams turned to her. “Althea, was it? I’m Henrietta. Is there anything you’d like to ask right away?”

 

Althea looked around in the room shyly. The other students were all looking at her curiously, and whispering to each other. It made her uncomfortable.

 

Henrietta saw it and turned around, placing her hands at her hips. “I doubt I need to tell you to leave Althea here alone. We are not a horde of blunt lions, or snooping snakes. Back to your homework!”

 

The students immediately turned back to what they had been doing. Henrietta smiled at Althea again.

 

“If anyone gives you any trouble, just let me know. But don’t worry, we usually don’t have that many problems within our House. Ravenclaws are more focused on learning than drama. However, if something does happen and I’m not around, you can always go to Professor Flitwick. Now, was there anything you wanted to ask about?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said.

 

“Well, if you think of anything, just ask. Why don’t I show you up to your dormitory?” Henrietta suggested and led Althea through the common room and up a flight of stairs. They passed five sets of doors before Henrietta stopped at a door marked “First Year Girls”. She opened it.

 

“This will be the room you share with the other girls in your year,” Henrietta explained. “Oh, and there is one of your classmates. Lillian, wasn’t it?”

 

There were four beds in the room, all with blue hangings and sheets. On the one at the far end of the room, a young blond girl was lying on her stomach with a book in front of her. She just nodded silently at Henrietta’s question.

 

“This is Althea, Lillian, she’ll be joining you in here. Do you know where the other two are?”

 

“Eating,” Lillian answered, her voice weak and her face red. Althea could see that she was clearly a very shy person. It made her feel more at relaxed. At least Lillian wouldn’t have the nerve to be mean.

 

“Why don’t I let you two get to know each other for a bit?” Henrietta suggested. “I’ll be down in the common room if you need anything, Althea.”

 

“Okay. Thanks,” Althea said and slowly made her way into the room as Henrietta left.

 

The bed next to Lillian’s had Althea’s trunk in front of it. Althea went over to it.

 

“So this is my bed?” she asked.

 

“Yes. It appeared just a little while ago,” Lillian said. She seemed a little less shy now when Henrietta had left.

 

“Who are the other two girls here then?” Althea asked.

 

“Connie Fresher and Pauline De Kalino,” Lillian said. On her tone, Althea got the impression that Lillian wasn’t very close to them. It made her hopeful. If Lillian didn’t have any friends either, then maybe they could become friends?

 

“What are you reading?” she asked, starting to get a feeling that Lillian could be very good company if she got her to loosen up.

 

“ _Hogwarts, A History_ ,” Lillian said, showing her the cover.

 

Althea smiled. “I love that book!”

 

Lillian blushed, a small smile starting to form on her lips. “Me too. I’ve read it twice already.”

 

“I’ve read it more times than I can count!” Althea said, moving over to Lillian’s bed. “What part are you on?”

 

“About the Founders,” Lillian said. “It’s my favourite part.”

 

“Mine too,” Althea exclaimed.

 

For the rest of the evening, Lillian and Althea talked about _Hogwarts, A History,_ and other books they liked. When she went to bed that night, Althea had a feeling Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad at all.

 

xxx

 

It felt strange, having just one daughter at home. Even though Hermione knew Althea was safe at Hogwarts (it had only been a week, but they had already exchanged two letters), she couldn’t help but feel worried. She felt constantly nauseated, but tried to hide it. She knew she was just being overprotective and paranoid, and it annoyed her.

 

However, nothing got past Voldemort.

 

“Put your mind on something more useful,” he told her when they were sitting in the library. He was researching, but she was reading Althea’s latest letter again. “Althea is fine. I would know if something happened to her.”

 

“I know,” Hermione growled, feeling aggravated, both by herself and her husband. However, she knew it would be no use fretting, and thus, she forced herself to put the letter away and went around the table to see what he was doing.

 

“Have you finished adjusting the potion that will get your looks back?” she asked. She could really use the relief it would bring knowing that he couldn’t be revealed by something as silly as running out of Polyjuice Potion.

 

“Yes, I think so. But we’ll have to wait for the full moon tomorrow to start with it,” he said, showing her his notes on the potion. It was a variation of the potion the fairies had given him twelve years ago, but based on the unique knowledge on transfiguration that Merlin’s scrolls had given them.

 

Hermione looked it over to see if anything was amiss, but she wasn’t sure what she could do to improve it. Either it would work or it wouldn’t. Only experimenting would give them the answer, and they couldn’t do that until tomorrow.

 

“So what are you doing now, then?” she asked, noting that he was still scribbling on another parchment.

 

“Well, Merlin gave me an idea for another way to immortality. I want to test it as soon as possible. And if I remember correctly, you promised to help me with this.”

 

Hermione blinked and it took a moment for her to remember the promise she had given him before they broke into Gringotts. She would help him achieve immortality in exchange for torturing him brutally.

 

Up until that moment, she had completely forgotten about the torture. Too many other things had happened in between: She had killed someone to protect Voldemort. He had killed for her. Harry had tried to kill Voldemort. The fairies had tried to kill them both. Mizuro’s death. Both their children had found out the truth, and they had been forced to take care of that. Not once had she thought about Voldemort who must still have been in pain for days after her treatment. He hadn’t complained after she had promised to help him. Hadn’t held it over her.

 

“What’s wrong with us?” she suddenly exclaimed, falling into the armchair next to him.

 

Voldemort sighed and put the quill down. “You will have to be more specific than that.”

 

“We hurt each other all the time. Really hurt each other. Is this what our entire life will be like? Just pain and more pain until one of us dies?”

 

Voldemort groaned. “For Salazar’s sake, Hermione, why are you clinging onto everything bad that has happened lately? Let it go. You aren’t usually this much of a pessimist.”

 

“Well, maybe I’m just sick and tired of this life,” she growled.

 

“What life? The constant sex, the search for knowledge, our magical training, our stimulating arguments, raising our children, your successful career, your battle of making the world a better place for creatures you feel sorry for— actually, that I would understand,” he added thoughtfully.

 

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She realised that he was right. All those reasons were exactly why she accepted the downsides of their marriage. And yet… why couldn’t she shake the dark feeling inside of her?

 

Voldemort leaned forward and took her hand. He stroked her thumb with his. “I can see that you are unhappy, kitten. However, I don’t think you are just unhappy with me. Do you realise how much has happened in just a few weeks of our lives? You haven’t had time to process it all yet.”

 

She glared at him. “Since when are you an expert on human emotions?”

 

“Since I was around ten. But that doesn’t matter. I know you, Hermione, I know how scared you were when Althea disappeared, but how you forced yourself to forget it so we could find her. I know how angry you are with the fairies, even though they are gone. I know how angry you are with Harry for trying to destroy our family, but that you at the same time feel guilty because you feel he deserves his revenge. You had to choose what was best for the people you cared for the most. I know how worried you are about Althea. I know how angry you are with me for breaking your trust in me yet again. How much you wished you could hate me instead of love me.”

 

Voldemort paused and brought his other hand up to her face, stroking away her hair. “Few people would be able to go through all that and not have a nervous breakdown. You are not tired of this life, you are just tired. And now you finally have the time to realise that you are.”

 

Hermione was quiet. She wanted to call him portentous for thinking he knew her better than she knew herself. Alas, she couldn’t, because a small part of her admitted that he did. Just like she knew him better than he knew himself. He couldn’t do the self-reflection that was needed to see all of him. Perhaps she didn’t either. He was right, after all. She was tired. Very, very tired. But she still didn’t feel like she had time to rest. She was constantly on alert for something to happen.

 

“We still hurt each other a lot,” she finally muttered.

 

“But we have been able to deal with that before. We just couldn’t when so many other extraordinary things were going on at the same time. And name a couple who could? It’s only been a bit over a month since Althea was kidnapped. Give it some time; you just have to get things in perspective again, and you will once life becomes normal again.”

 

Hermione sighed. “How come you’re so calm and understanding all of a sudden?”

 

He smiled. “I’m not emotional like you are.”

 

She scowled. “You say that as if it were a good thing.”

 

“We will never see eye to eye on that one, so I won’t even bother to discuss it. Let’s just focus on translating for now. You’ll feel better in time.” He leaned in closer and kissed her before releasing her hand and then sitting back in his own armchair.

 

Hermione looked down at the books and scrolls in front of her. Time. Yes, she knew there were problems with no magical solution. The more she thought about it, the more she found it reasonable. Her life hadn’t really changed; there had just been a lot of bad things coming at once. She had been reminded about who Voldemort was again. She had learned to live with it before, and would be able to live with it again.

 

However, wasn’t it a bit strange that she reacted so forcefully to all of this? It wasn’t just her emotions, but her whole body seemed to be in uproar with angst, headaches and nausea. She had been stressed before without any physical symptoms.

 

Well, except for when she was pregnant with Alexandra, but that was …

 

Hold on.

 

Hermione started to count the weeks backwards.

 

xxx

 

Voldemort yawned as he turned another page of the book he was reading while waiting for Hermione to come out from the bathroom. Even though he pretended to be fine, truth was that the last month had worn him out as well. He found himself requiring more sleep than usual. However, as he had said to Hermione, all that was needed was time. He would be back to his peak in a few weeks. By then, he would also have his Marcus-body back. They had started on the potion this morning, and so far it worked. Since it was the first stage that was the most uncertain, he was sure the potion would work once it had finished brewing by the end of the week. Then they wouldn’t have to worry about getting exposed just because they ran out of potion.

 

He had to admit that it made him slightly paranoid to know how easy it would be. If they were thrown into prison again for whatever reason and placed inside the cell that disrupted all active magic, everyone would be able to see his old body. But the chances of that happening were slim. The Potters had taken the oath, and there was no one else who could turn him over. He had made sure no one Potter had told actually believed him. No one had. Not even his so called best friend, Ronald Weasley.

 

At least not now when Hermione seemed to warm up to him again. At least he hoped their talk yesterday had straightened her out. She had been a bit distant afterwards, and today as well. But she hadn’t done anything suspicious, and the only time he hadn’t been with her was when she had picked up Alexandra after school. But she had only been in the Muggle world then, and there was no one she could betray him to there.

 

No, she wouldn’t betray him. Not after everything she had gone through to make her family safe. Even if she were mad at him, she would always protect her children.

 

Besides, she thought she had control over him now. Well, they would see about that. When he wasn’t looking for immortality, he was searching for a way to stop her control over his magic. It shouldn’t be too hard. She had been able to do it after all.

 

He heard the toilet flush and looked up, expecting her to come out. When she didn’t, he turned back to the book. It was a very interesting book, so he didn’t mind that she had been in the bathroom for quite some time now. The book was about experimental potions, a subject he knew little about, but had started to appreciate more and more.

 

The door to the bathroom opened, but he was right in the middle of a complex explanation and wanted to finish it.

 

“Do you remember that contraceptive potion you made me?” Hermione asked.

 

“Mhm,” he said, not taking his eyes from the book.

 

“Do you remember when you said that it would be so much easier since I only had to take it once a year after you experimented with it and added an active magical component in it?”

 

“Yes,” something in her voice made him look up with a frown.

 

Hermione was standing with her arms crossed over her chest with something small and white sticking out from her fist.

 

“Remember how we were placed in cell which removed all active magic from us so we wouldn’t be able to keep up any glamour, or do any magic while in that cell?” The expression on her face was … peculiar. Like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh, cry or be angry.

 

Voldemort’s eyes fell on the stick in her hand. He didn’t recognise it per se, but he suddenly remembered that after Hermione had come home with Alexandra, she had been carrying a bag from the pharmacist. He hadn’t thought more about it. She often bought toothpaste and brushes from the Muggle pharmacist. Thus, it hadn’t worried him. Then.

 

“Remember how we had sex in that cell?” she finally asked, coming up to him and showing him the stick.

 

Voldemort looked at her, then at the stick. Then up at her, then at her stomach. Then up at her again. She nodded.

 

“Oh, fuck.”

 

 


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers. Here it is, the epilogue of Shared Flame. Enjoy.

 

**Epilogue – 29 years later**

 

Voldemort smiled at his reflection as he straightened his dark-green dress robe. It seemed fitting. He was, after all, going to celebrate his Slytherin daughter’s election to Minister for Magic. Alexandra had turned out exactly as he wanted her. At thirty-six, she was the youngest witch ever to become Minister. Not that anyone was surprised. Alexandra had everything a Minister could ever wish for. She was clever and well-read, very powerful magically, good-looking, and equipped with a charisma that was almost as good as his.

 

He was proud of her. He had guided her to this role right from the start, and it had paid off.

 

Fine, so Hermione had helped as well. It was mostly through Hermione’s involvement that Alexandra was as compassionate with minorities as she was. There would be a lot of changes for the statutes of magical creatures with Alexandra in power. Voldemort didn’t really care. It was enough that he had one of his own as Minister. Just like he was pleased that one of his own was making her way to become Headmistress of Hogwarts.

 

Sofia Granger-Foster had had a perfectly normal childhood, free from any fairies. At Hogwarts, she had been in Gryffindor (much to his dislike), and just five years after graduation, she had become the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Voldemort had his suspicions on why she had chosen that profession.

 

Just like Althea, Sofia had been troubled when she had found out her father was the Dark Lord. It had, however, been impossible to keep it from her. Althea in particular had been very vocal about telling Sofia the truth from the start. Voldemort suspected Sofia’s career choice was a type of rebellion. Either way, it didn’t matter much. The important thing was that Sofia had become a Professor at Hogwarts, and thus, Voldemort had control of the two most important places in the entire Wizarding World.

 

“Are you ready?” Hermione came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a tailored, dark-blue dress, her hair tied up in bun at the nap of her neck.

 

“Yes. You look very beautiful, kitten,” Voldemort said and walked over to kiss her.

 

Hermione chuckled. “Don’t you think I’m getting a bit old for that nickname? I did just turn sixty, after all.”

 

“You’ll always be young to me, kitten,” the one-hundred-and-thirteen-year-old answered haughtily. “Besides, what does age matter when one is immortal?”

 

She snorted. “Yes, well, do try and act your age this time.”

 

“You are never too old to kiss your wife!”

 

“A kiss is fine. Dragging me into a dark corner and massaging my arse while snogging is not considered normal at our age.”

 

Voldemort scoffed. “People are just too prudish.”

 

“I’m just saying we have to be careful so people won’t suspect anything. We still have some decades to go before we can fake our deaths and start a new life.”

 

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Fine, no snogging in public.”

 

Right then, there was a knock on the door. Voldemort opened with a flick of his wand. Sofia stood outside, also dressed for the night in a bit too revealing red dress. He frowned at her.

 

Sofia, knowing her father, rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m wearing the dress. It’s not like I have time to change it; the car is already here.”

 

She turned around again and left. Voldemort growled.

 

“Oh, will you let it go,” Hermione said with a sigh. “She is twenty-eight; she can wear whatever she wants.”

 

“Men will look at her,” Voldemort muttered darkly as they followed their youngest daughter.

 

“Let them. You can’t control who your daughters sleep with.”

 

Voldemort knew she was right, but he didn’t like it one bit. It was bad enough that Alexandra was engaged to a wizard. He didn’t want to think about whom Sofia could end up with. At least Alexandra had chosen a respectable Slytherin named Richard Pierce. He came from a good family, had graduated from Oxford, and had a promising career as a Potion maker. If only Voldemort’s first impression hadn’t been ruined by how he had met his soon-to-be son-in-law.

 

It had been early one Sunday morning. He had let himself into Alexandra’s flat to get a file he needed. Alexandra and he worked together a lot, and since he hadn’t found the file at his own place, he had suspected Alexandra had taken it. However, he had remembered her saying she was going away with a friend over the weekend, and thus, he could sneak into her flat without anyone noticing.

 

At least he had thought so. It turned out his daughter was better at lying to him than he had originally thought.

 

_He had stepped into the flat and the first thing he had seen was a young man sitting by Alexandra’s kitchen table in nothing but a short, pink dressing gown, reading the Daily Prophet. Voldemort had whipped out his wand at once._

_“Who are you?” he had growled, aiming his wand at the man._

_The young man had jumped up, blushing furiously. “Professor Foster! I, eh, wha—”_

_“Dad! What are you doing here?” Alexandra had rushed out from the bedroom, only wearing an oversized t-shirt and knickers._

_Voldemort slowly had lowered his wand, fighting the urge to kill the other man. Well, he wasn’t stupid; it was quite clear what the two had been up to._

_“I came to see if you had the Philton file,” Voldemort had answered. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”_

_Alexandra had scowled. “You could have knocked.”_

_“You told me you would be away for the weekend,” Voldemort had reminded her, crossing his arms. “Well?”_

_“This is Richard Pierce, my boyfriend. Richard, this is my father, Marcus Foster.”_

_“I know,” Pierce had said weakly, looking absolutely mortified. “Pleasure to meet you.”_

_Voldemort hadn’t shared the sentiment. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”_

_Alexandra had rolled her eyes. “Since none of your business. And if you can’t see it, this is a rather bad time.” She had gone to the coffee table and picked up a file. “This is the one you wanted? Here you go. We can talk more at dinner tonight.”_

_She had basically pushed him out the door. Voldemort had later found out that Hermione had known about it for months, and not told him about it. His family clearly didn’t trust him to keep his temper._

 

Pushing the depressing thoughts of his daughter’s love-life aside, Voldemort escorted Hermione down to the car. As they made themselves comfortable in the back of the car, Voldemort regarded his youngest daughter, wondering if there were any chance she would remain single the rest of her life. Somehow, he doubted it. She was a spitting image of Hermione, but taller. Her hair had the same uncontrollable, brown locks; her figure was just as slim; and her eyes had the same brown colour, with the same intelligent spark. The difference was that she was a lot more social than Hermione had ever been, and even though Voldemort had never caught her with a boy, he was quite certain his daughter had had her fun.

 

“Do you think Althea will be there?” Sofia asked as the car drove them towards the Ministry for Alexandra’s inauguration party.

 

Hermione sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her in a month, and then all she said was that she didn’t know when she would get back. I did Owl when Alex won the election though, but I didn’t get a response.”

 

Voldemort hid a grimace. He didn’t like thinking about Althea; it only made him aggravated. He had had plans for her as well, but once she had finished Hogwarts, she had made it clear that she wanted none of his involvement. She had gone three years to Oxford before dropping out, deciding she had found out everything she wanted to know there (even though she didn’t have the diploma to show it). After that, she had left to travel the world, and his contact with her the last ten years had been sporadic. She had only sent Owls to Hermione.

 

The last time he had seen him was over a year ago, at Christmas. Their talk then hadn’t gone very well.

_“I know you have been dealing with the Dark Arts,” he had said as they had set the table for the family Christmas dinner._

_“Are you going to lecture me?” Althea had seemed almost amused. “That’s rich, Voldemort.”_

_“I have a century of experience, Althea. I’m merely offering to teach you. The Dark Arts can be very … addictive. I don’t want you repeating my mistakes.”_

_“I’m sure,” Althea had sneered. “But we have very different motives. I don’t wish to control the world.”_

_“What do you want to do with them, then? Fight them?” He had scoffed, turning annoyed with her. “I see you, girl; you are already filled to the brink with it.”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she had said, sending all the plates to their places with just a snap of her fingers._

_Voldemort had not been impressed with the power display. “Don’t let your mother see you. She shouldn’t have to worry about you.”_

_Althea’s face had darkened so fast, Voldemort had been taken aback. “You mean like you have forced her to worry about you for thirty years? Are you worried she’s going to care more for me than for you all of a sudden?”_

_“Ah, so that’s why you are acting out with the Dark Arts. You want Mummy to pay attention to you,” he had said softly._

_Althea’s eyes had flashed black. “You have no idea what I want.”_

_She had stalked out of the kitchen and he hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to her alone after that. The next morning, she had been gone again._

 

Voldemort was snapped out of his thoughts by the car arriving to the mansion where the inauguration would be held. Exiting the car, he flashed a brilliant smile to the gathered press. News reporters from all around the world had gathered. He offered Hermione his right arm, and Sofia his left, and they made their way up to the entrance. The Ministry really didn’t care about expenses when they were celebrating a new Minister. The mansion was owned by some old pure-blood family, who rented it to the Ministry on special occasions.

 

The celebration was mostly held for Ministry workers, and the people who had supported Alexandra in her run for Minister. Thus, everyone there was in a victorious mood. Voldemort smiled. He looked forward to the party. He and Alexandra had worked on her speech, which would tell everyone which direction she was going to take as Minister. With everyone celebrating, Voldemort knew they would be quite accepting to some of Alexandra’s _(his_ ) surprises. Add a bit of alcohol to that, no one would think anything was amiss.

 

Once they were inside the ballroom, Sofia excused herself. Voldemort saw her walking over to a group of people she knew from Hogwarts. Voldemort kept an eye on her, even though he was assaulted with people wanting to congratulate Hermione and him for their daughter’s achievement.

 

After about fifteen minutes, he saw someone coming up to Sofia, whispering something in her ear. Sofia nodded and quickly left the ballroom. Voldemort frowned. What was that about? He knew his daughter, and he could tell when something weird was going on.

 

He was just about to make an excuse to go and spy on her when the doors opened again and Alexandra entered together with Pierce. Cheers filled the room, and Voldemort mentally cursed. He couldn’t leave now.

 

Everyone applauded as Alexandra entered the podium that had been placed there for the occasion. She smiled at them and waited until they had all quieted down.

 

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” she said, her voice pleasant but still carrying easily through the room.

 

She was an excellent speaker, thanks to him.

 

“It’s because of all of you that I’m standing here. This isn’t just my night; this is everyone’s night”

 

Spontaneous cheers broke out around them.

 

Voldemort nodded, pleased. This was starting exactly as he had wanted.

 

“I know many of you have been wondering what exactly it is I want us to work for during my time as Minister. Like those before me, I want to make our world a better place. Of course, this is what every Minister wants, and we all know that some of them have been less than inspiring. Therefore, I wish to share with you who my inspiration has been: Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

 

Voldemort frowned as some people around them cheered again. She wasn’t supposed to say Kingsley. She was supposed to say Rebecca, her successor. Voldemort had worked hard on Rebecca to start setting the ball in motion that he wanted Alexandra to continue with. Kingsley had been too Muggle-friendly. But how could an experienced speaker like Alexandra say the wrong thing?

 

The bad feeling he had had ever since Sofia was called away increased as Alexandra’s speech continued. She had completely drifted away from what he had prepared for her. But he could see that she had prepared for this as well.

 

He looked down at his wife, but she didn’t look smug at all. He had been careful not to let her hear the original speech. Hermione knew him too well; she would have figured out what he was up to. But she hadn’t found out, and she didn’t seem to be behind this change. Could Alexandra have done this on her own?

 

Discreetly looking around the room, he noted that Sofia was still absent. Something was clearly going on here. Something that he was sure he wouldn’t like.

 

Alexandra finished, and the cheers around them became louder. As she stepped down from the podium, everyone milled up to congratulate her further. Voldemort stood back, anger growing inside him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. No one else would be able to see that he was angry, but she knew him too well.

 

“Has Alexandra talked to you about how she was going to do her speech?” Voldemort asked in a low voice.

 

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “No, she just said that she had been working on it with a few colleagues. Why?”

 

Voldemort didn’t answer. That was the lie he had told Alexandra to tell her mother.

 

“What did you do?” Hermione asked, her voice growing suspicious.

 

“She rehearsed a speech for me,” Voldemort said, not even lying. “That one wasn’t it.”

 

Hermione studied him for a short moment. “You gave her a speech, didn’t you? For crying out loud, I thought you knew she wanted to do this on her own!”

 

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Well, apparently, she did.”

 

“What did you want her to say?” Hermione pressed, clearly getting annoyed.

 

“That doesn’t matter now.”

 

“Marcus,” she growled.

 

“Excuse me.” A young waiter came up to them. “Miss Granger-Foster wishes you to join her in the study one floor up. May I show you the way?”

 

Voldemort nodded and took Hermione’s arm as they followed the waiter out of the ballroom and up a flight of stairs. Whatever his daughter had been doing behind his back, he was sure he would find out now. Sofia was probably in on it as well. He knew he shouldn’t have let the girls become such good friends, but Hermione had insisted on it.

 

The waiter opened the door for them and then left. Voldemort stepped through the door, and the first thing he saw was Sofia sitting on the couch with Lily Potter of all people. They were talking to someone who was sitting in an armchair, the back turned to them. However, he recognised her before she even had turned her head.

 

“Althea,” he growled, understanding exactly who was behind this.

 

Althea smiled broadly and stood up. “Daddy.”

 

“Althea,” Hermione gasped in surprise. At once she rushed over and hugged her daughter tightly. “How long have you been back? Why didn’t you Owl me?”

 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Althea said, winking to Voldemort over her mother’s shoulder. “But of course I wouldn’t miss my little sister’s coronation.”

 

“Don’t you mean election?” Voldemort asked, closing the door behind him.

 

“What’s the difference?” Althea asked and finally let go of her mother.

 

Hermione studied her daughter, and Voldemort could see that something was bothering her. He knew what it was. The Dark Magic was coming off of her in waves. She must have just done something big for it to be this noticeable. That was probably why she hadn’t goaded him downstairs, where people could see them.

 

But that didn’t explain why she dared to goad him here, in front of Lily Potter of all people. His eyes travelled to his other daughter and noticed that she and Potter were holding hands.

 

Sofia took that opportunity to rise with Potter. “Well, now when that awkward moment is over, how about another one? Lily and I are engaged.”

 

Voldemort froze in horror. Hermione, however, gasped and went up to hug Sofia.

 

“Oh congratulations, honey! Engaged? I didn’t even know you were together.” Hermione hugged Lily as well.

 

“Well, with Dad and Harry hating each other, we thought it was best to wait until it was official,” Sofia said and smiled at Lily.

 

That made Voldemort even more horrified. “And does your girlfriend know why Harry and I don’t get along?”

 

“Yes, and I do understand Dad having trouble with you, considering how you killed his parents and all,” Lily said, clearly having inherited her parents’ boldness.

 

“You told her?” Voldemort asked in disbelief, starting at Sofia.

 

“No, that would be me,” Althea said smugly, coming up and putting an arm around Sofia’s shoulders. “She was worried about having a relationship built on lies, so I helped her to … get over the little issue that stopped her from telling Lily everything.”

 

Voldemort shouldn’t have been surprised his daughter had found a way around the curse. Hermione had a long time ago, and Althea might very well be even cleverer than Hermione. But it still shocked him that his daughters had gone behind his back and told a _Potter_ who he really was.

 

“Althea, are you trying to get your father killed?” Hermione asked in a low, serious voice.

 

Althea seemed surprised at her mother’s question. “Not at all. None of us want to have people know we are Voldemort’s children. Lily won’t tell.”

 

“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe that, why?” Voldemort snarled, glaring at Potter.

 

Potter glared back. “Because I love Sofia. I don’t want to cause trouble for her.”

 

“Sorry, Dad, you’ll just have to learn to live with it,” Althea said sweetly.

 

Right then, the door opened again and Alexandra stepped through, grinning from ear to ear. She walked past Voldemort and hugged her older sister.

 

“Did you see it? They went ecstatic when I mentioned the education of other magical creatures,” Alexandra said happily. When she noticed the tension in the room, she let go of her sister. “Oh, you told them.”

 

“Alex knew, too?” Voldemort growled. Of all his daughters, he had never expected Alexandra to betray him. She was the _good_ daughter! Then again, she had changed the speech. Clearly, he had underestimated her.

 

“Actually, she didn’t know about the engagement,” Sofia piped in.

 

“You’re engaged?” Alexandra exclaimed and then hugged her other sister and Potter, too. “It’s about time!”

 

Voldemort suddenly had a terrible feeling that something bad was about to happen. If the engagement weren’t what Alexandra had thought they were upset about, then what was it?

 

Althea must have seen his frown, because she smirked. “Oh, I think what Alex was worried about was that we had told you about the little change of plans. You see, you aren’t going to be Alex’s special adviser after all. Lily is.”

 

Next to him, he heard Hermione groan. “Oh, girls.”

 

Voldemort didn’t care about her. “What? I thought we had planned this, Alexandra.”

 

Alexandra crossed her arms. “No, _you_ had planned this. Dad, I love you, and I appreciate all the help you have given me, but do you think I’m stupid? I don’t want to be your puppet. I want to do what I think is best, and that means I’ll choose people I know I can trust and who will help me achieve my goals. Lily has a lot of experience in this area, and we have been friends since she graduated from Hogwarts. She’s good at this, and I know she’ll do a good job without her own agenda.”

 

Voldemort let his eyes move from woman to woman. Lily and Alexandra looked defiant. Sofia seemed a little bit worried about her lover’s safety. Her hand was hovering close to her wand. But it was Althea that his eyes finally came to rest on. His oldest daughter looked triumphant.

 

“So you have stopped listening to me in favour of listening to Althea, changing from a Dark Wizard to a Dark Witch?” he asked.

 

Alexandra sighed and glanced at Althea. “Althea has helped me as well, yes, but I didn’t do this for her. I did this for myself. I don’t want to be controlled by anyone.”

 

Voldemort noticed that Althea looked extremely pleased. As clever as Alexandra was, she had always looked up to her big sister. Of course she couldn’t see that she was being played.

 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, Alex, of course we won’t stand in your way. This is your career, and you may do what you please. I’m sad you felt that you had to keep this from us, though.”

 

Alexandra looked a bit uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to keep it from _you_. I just didn’t want there to be any problems before the election.”

 

Voldemort huffed. Hermione sent him a glare of warning. “Well, I’m glad you told us now. And we will still support you, of course.”

 

Alexandra smiled in relief. “Thanks, Mum.”

 

Voldemort kept staring at Althea. “Oh, yes, we will, of course, support _you_ , Alex. But if you want to keep me at a distance, perhaps you should try to do the same to Althea.”

 

Althea snorted. “I’m not a former Dark Lord.”

 

“No, you are just on your way of becoming the next Dark Lady.”

 

“Okay!” Sofia broke in, placing a hand on Potter’s back. “I don’t think this is the place for this. Lily and I are going downstairs to mingle for a bit.”

 

“Good idea, but I want you two to come over for dinner tomorrow night,” Hermione said. “I want to celebrate. Oh, and have you told your parents yet, Lily?”

 

“No, but we are having lunch with them tomorrow. We’ll tell them then,” Lily replied.

 

“Well, make sure to tell them that Marcus and I won’t cause any problems for the two of you, and we will be civil on the wedding, so they needn’t worry.”

 

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Voldemort growled, stepping up to Potter. “Why on earth would I trust you? You claim to love Sofia now, but what if that changes?” He leaned in closer. “I suggest you do tell your parents about this, and then, they will tell you exactly what I’m willing to do to keep this secret.”

 

“Marcus,” Hermione growled, coming up to Voldemort and pulling him back. “If our daughters trust Lily, then we can trust her, too.”

 

Voldemort opened his mouth to tell her exactly why they couldn’t trust anyone outside (and apparently _inside_ ) of his family, but Hermione grabbed his hand tighter.

 

“ _Do you really want your daughters to continue thinking the worse of you? The reason they have gone behind your back is because they don’t trust you. Do you really want to keep doing this?_ ” she asked him telepathically.

 

Voldemort fumed, but could see the reasoning behind her words, and thus, he kept quiet. He didn’t want his daughters to turn on him, after all. He wanted them to work for him, just as Hermione did.

 

“Very well,” Voldemort growled, turning his focus on his youngest daughter who had now moved between him and her lover. “I hope you know what you are doing, Sofia.”

 

“I do,” Sofia said, meeting his gaze firmly.

 

Voldemort nodded stiffly, and allowed them to pass.

 

They left the room. However, the tension in the room didn’t leave with them. Clearly, Sofia had anticipated the storm, which was about to occur between him and Althea, and wanted her girlfriend out of the warzone. Such a shame. It would have sorted a lot of his problems if Potter were hit with a stray curse, preferably from Althea. Oh well, that was a later problem. Right now, he had bigger issues.

 

Voldemort and Althea stared at each other, willing the other one to lose patience first.

 

“Oh no, you don’t,” Hermione growled and came to stand between them, turning to Voldemort. “I can see what you are thinking, and you are not starting a duel here, especially not with your own daughter.”

 

She turned around and addressed Althea instead. “And you should not be challenging your father like this. If you want to rebel, do it in your own way, not by turning into him.”

 

Althea’s eyes widened. “I’m nothing like him!”

 

Hermione sighed. “I’m afraid you are. After finishing Hogwarts, you have done the exact same thing he did when he finished Hogwarts. You have even travelled deep into the realms of the Dark Arts. I can see it, too. Please, don’t turn into him.”

 

Althea looked down, but her forehead wrinkled, and Voldemort could see she didn’t agree with her mother. Voldemort didn’t say anything. He knew Althea would never turn into him. She was too much like her mother. However, more often than not, Hermione ignored exactly how dark she was, so it wasn’t strange that she only saw Voldemort in Althea. But if Hermione could keep her darkness at bay, so could Althea. Learning the Dark Arts wasn’t the same as turning into a Dark Lady. Although, since it benefited him if Hermione were focused on Althea, he didn’t say anything. Althea’s mischief had destroyed his plans. He would have to come up with new ones, and that would be easier if Hermione didn’t concentrate too much on him.

 

Thus, it was a good thing that he was immortal. He could wait until Althea was dead before he started forming new plans of controlling the world.

 

Alexandra cleared her throat. “Well, now that all of that is out in the open, I think I have to go downstairs again. Otherwise, people will start asking questions.”

 

“Before you go,” Voldemort said, stroking his wand, “did you tell Richard about me?”

 

Alexandra snorted. “That you are Voldemort? No, I’m not a Gryffindor like Sofia. I can have my secrets; he can have his.”

 

He regarded her, trying to figure out if she were lying or not (clearly, she was very good at it). But then he decided that he would just pay her fiancé a visit later on to see for himself. However, her words did seem reasonable. She was a Slytherin after all.

 

“We’ll see you tomorrow at dinner then, Alex,” Hermione said.

 

“Okay, Mum,” Alexandra said, and went up to her again. She kissed her cheek before walking out of the room.

 

That left only them with Althea.

 

“I want you to be there tomorrow, too, Althea,” Hermione said, her voice stern. “We are going to have a serious talk about those Dark Arts.”

 

“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll be there tomorrow,” Althea said. “But for Alexandra’s future career, I don’t think I should go down to the party now. I’ll see you, then.”

 

She Disapparated on the spot.

 

Hermione sighed and turned to Voldemort again. “I guess we can’t be surprised that our daughters have been keeping things from us.”

 

Voldemort shrugged, pretending not to care when inside he was seething with rage. Minions could never be trusted, apparently not even the ones of your own flesh and blood. Only Hermione, but then, their bond was magical and not by blood.

 

Hermione took his hand. “I know this must be hard for you. Alexandra always seemed to adore you. And I think she still does; she just listens to Althea more.”

 

“I don’t care,” Voldemort said, suppressing the feeling of hurt that had indeed been in his chest since he had heard the new speech.

 

Hermione sighed, took his hand and led him over to the couch, making him sit down. “It’s okay. All parents get disappointed in their children sooner or later. You would never have been able to control them completely. They take after us, after all.”

 

Voldemort was silent as Hermione straddled his lap and kissed him again.

 

“You should be proud of them. They have achieved so much, and will achieve so much more. Even if it’s not the exact same way you envisioned, you still had a part in that. They are a much better legacy than anything else you have done.”

 

She kissed him again, her hands travelling down his chest. “Besides, it isn’t as if they will be the last way you can hope to influence the world. We are immortal now, after all. In another thirty or forty years, we’ll start a new life, with new possibilities.”

 

Voldemort sighed and closed his eyes. She was right, of course. He had many lifetimes to change the world. What was the rush? He would just make sure to do it himself the next time.

 

“Promise me one thing,” he said in a low voice.

 

“What?” she asked, starting to unbutton his shirt.

 

“Let’s not have any children the next time around. Just you and me, enjoying life.”

 

Hermione chuckled. “Fine, I think I can do without children of my own, but if any of our daughters get children, I’ll want to check up on them from time to time.”

 

“As do I,” Voldemort said. Finally, he brought his hands up to her body, lifting her skirt.

Hermione smiled at him. “Now, let’s fuck.”

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It is always bittersweet to finish a story, but this one has been very important for me in many levels, and yet, it’s very fitting to finish this now. When I began writing this story, over three years ago, I was deeply depressed and about to go on sick leave. I wrote the first 20 chapter of this story while on sick leave, and I think this story was one of the few things that made life worth living.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, when I’m writing this, I’m on sick leave again, but this time, there is hope. Three weeks ago, I had surgery and years of pain got an explanation. Now there is actually hope that I’ll become better. Not be in pain so much.
> 
>  
> 
> On top of that, I’ve somehow managed to receive a master’s degree in history with highest honours.
> 
>  
> 
> Thus, as these struggles end, so does Shared Flame. I want to thank every one of you who have stood by me during this time. My wonderful betas, Nerys, Shan and Serpent in Red who have supported me and made this story better than I could ever have done it. And to all my readers. Sometimes, your reviews are what have made me fight on. To receive a thousand reviews is more than I could ever imagine, and I’m deeply humbled.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> Frid vare med er.


End file.
